That was the day I realized that clocks and mirrors are not the enemies, but mere man-made mechanisms, by which we attempt to control the uncontrollable. And as long as I am a slave to the slow, mechanical indifference of the second hand (that is often sharp and precise as an executioner’s sword); and if I waste my only chance at happiness and continue to turn away from the real beauty of the world, forever distracted by the accusatory reflection of guilt and regret that has always stared back at me from the mirror, then the envious world will have won. There was a time when I was ignorant of my inevitable senescence and eventual death, when the world was big, but big in a good way, and I did not mind being so small because there was so much life everywhere I looked. I never thought I would surrender all the things that had meant so much to me. The world is still a big place, but a different kind of big, and I am lost in its immensity. I never wanted to grow old—just to grow.