Moment

Moments are called Moments for a very wise reason. They are momentary, and momentous. They happen at their own will, in tiny little windows in the space-time continuum. Brief glances into one of the truths of one of the many truths that walk the earth. And then they are gone. The sun rises, blinding us with its clear, yellow light. We can not create moments. We must not create moments. One does not carve out a volcano with his own hands, no matter how majestic the explosion of red, orange and grey. One leaves such momentous tasks to the iron will of Mother Nature. Momentous.

And momentary. They slip from existence as seamlessly as they came. And then we’re back, you and I. Back to ourselves. Ourselves... Our...Selves. Hmm...

I’ve had moments. Too many to count. With many a people, and many a things, and myself. But someday we’ll have a moment, you and I. And it will stretch, of its own accord. It will permeate our lives like the night does the day. Until banality will have to find those tiny little windows and slither in through them. And the night will end, and the blinding light will begin to spread, and other moments will begin to end. But that day... we? We’ll watch the sunrise.