Time. Like a stranded boat at sea, the sailor is certain that the water is infinite. No matter how much they row, or what direction they wish to take, they are always seemingly further from shore. As the boat rocks in the waves, the sailor sits motionless, clutching the oar but making no effort to row, lost in the vastness around them. Slowly, the sailor is brought back towards land, with the boat hitting a sudden stop. The sea is now swapped out for gritty sand, with the stones and shells crunching beneath their feet with every step.
Time, like the sea, runs out. Our time runs out. I yearn for the clock to tick for me, to wait for me, yet it never does. I pray for the weeks to be longer for me, and still the days continue to shorten. Do I let the sea take me, much like the sailor. Or do I keep rowing, towards my eventual end?