Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Tick, Tick...

My heart has been crying all day today for not being good enough, never being good enough, in the way I want it to be. I've had three different signs from three different angles that no, I actually am good enough, and that I shouldn't think about it like that, but are our selves ever convinced? I think of my value and what I bring to the world, and it ends up a resemblance of the murky mess inside my heart— that one that keeps fathoming everything unfathomable but stops responding when it's about my worth. I see my dreams and I see me running towards them, but I just keep running to a never-ending nonstop.

I keep seeing myself older in the mirrors I perceive, and it makes me wonder if I will ever truly perceive this long age, because sometimes I feel like my time is exploding from the forever I've lived. My mirrors don't perceive my years– my countless minutes of wishing they count less, and I get back and wonder what a funny life it is; to run towards your love and never get to love it.

Here's a secret I never told anyone; I keep ticking my own time. I keep waiting for a single day that I know will end me if I live it. I keep waiting for it, and I keep wondering what worthy thing will I have brought to life that gives me a pass to continue living from that day forth. It's either to be my rebirth or my doom. I always want to never reach it, because there's nothing so special that I could've done that would make me worthy of its ticks. There's nothing that will not make me lament those constantly drumming ticks.

Oh and his and his best friend's story hurt like a bitch. Because that's what always happens to me, isn't it? Me thinking my time will be ending so soon, and yet it turns that I will have to grieve everyone around me. One day I sleep on wishing my ticks to be over, only to find it came true for my heart and soul that resided in my brother. What a fate we will never understand. What a life we may not forever withstand.

I saw myself, old and fractured, aching for something I may never have. Or may just have when it's too late, when the ticking is over. But I understand why it resounded with everyone, and the fact that he ends up outnumbering his ticks with everlasting footprints made me want to remind you that your clock will never stop ticking until you decide for it to be no more. Live until you're 30 and 40 and keep singing your own anthem. It is the tick we decide that steals away our dreams, not our last foretold tick.