Often, obvious things escape us despite the arrogance of the human mind. Although I had always seen it and felt it within me, I remained ignorant of its poetic and profound meaning. Yet, the agony of Time is evident when at the end of the day the sun dies of languidness, filling the sky with a sigh of blood and amber, before, alas, giving up life to the night.

The moment when the sun sets is not insignificant; it is the agony of Time for the one who contemplates it. It is the death of a day without a twin, one more feather plucked from the wings that carry life. Time escapes us, and our existence is fragile in its finiteness. I wonder, what is life by the way? A breath that withers into a sigh? A slow merry-go-round of pleasures and displeasures? Or maybe, a sentence reluctantly accepted?

Maybe life is simply the Time—and vice versa? But we are in no way sovereign over our time. On the contrary, we are its helpless subjects—for a moment. And there is no escape in the long run: we can only be carried away like the sand from the hourglass of our life that is poured into nothingness. This is why we must persist to not live in vain, to allow ourselves to dream and desire—and then allow ourselves to chase after these dreams and desires. The agony of Time reminds us that each of our days is unique, and they should not follow one another by being dull and mundane. What is life? Life is a celebration for those who truly want to live!