Tag: wasted time

  • Save Your Time While It’s Cheap

    Save your time

    while it’s cheap—

    before regret

    puts interest on it.

    Before someday

    becomes five years ago

    and you’re standing there

    wondering how the hell

    you let that much life

    get away from you.

    I spent mine

    like I had an endless supply.

    On people

    who couldn’t decide

    if they wanted me.

    On arguments

    that changed nothing.

    On proving myself

    to people

    who had already decided

    who I was.

    I wasted whole nights

    replaying conversations

    that were over.

    Whole mornings

    recovering from choices

    I knew better than to make.

    Whole years

    waiting for something

    to change

    while doing everything possible

    to stay exactly where I was.

    Time felt cheap then.

    Another weekend.

    Another drink.

    Another chance.

    Another I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

    Tomorrow seemed endless

    until I started noticing

    how many of them

    were behind me.

    That’s the fucking trick.

    You never know

    what your time costs

    while you’re spending it.

    You find out later—

    when someone is gone.

    When the opportunity closes.

    When you finally become ready

    for a life

    that no longer exists.

    And suddenly

    you’d pay anything

    for one ordinary afternoon

    you barely noticed

    while you had it.

    So save your time

    while it’s cheap.

    Spend it

    on people who stay.

    On mornings

    you’ll remember.

    On becoming someone

    you don’t constantly

    need to escape from.

    Say what matters.

    Leave what hurts.

    Love while it’s here.

    Start before you’re ready.

    Because eventually

    time gets expensive.

    And regret

    has never given

    a fucking refund.

  • Wasted Time

    I used to think

    I wasted years.

    On the wrong people.

    The wrong choices.

    The wrong version

    of myself.

    I counted birthdays

    I barely remember.

    Conversations

    that led nowhere.

    Dreams

    I kept postponing

    until they forgot my name.

    I called it

    wasted time.

    But time

    doesn’t disappear.

    It leaves something behind.

    A scar

    that taught me

    where not to bleed.

    A goodbye

    that taught me

    what staying should feel like.

    A mistake

    I stopped repeating.

    Even the years

    I spent lost

    were years

    I learned the sound

    of my own footsteps.

    Would I take them back?

    Some days.

    Some days

    I’d erase entire chapters

    if I could.

    But then I’d lose

    the lessons,

    the strength,

    the quiet understanding

    that came only

    because I lived through them.

    Maybe time

    is only wasted

    if it leaves you unchanged.

    And I didn’t stay

    the same.

    I became someone

    who knows

    that healing

    takes longer

    than hurting.

    That leaving

    can be an act of love.

    That starting over

    isn’t failure—

    it’s faith.

    So maybe

    I didn’t waste my time.

    Maybe I spent it

    becoming someone

    I couldn’t have been

    any other way.

  • All Out of Borrowed Time

    I think I’m all out

    of borrowed time—

    all the second chances

    I kept spending

    like they’d never run out.

    The warnings came.

    In sleepless nights.

    In empty bottles.

    In promises

    I swore I’d keep tomorrow.

    In the people

    who looked at me

    like they were waiting

    for me to save myself.

    But tomorrow

    kept moving.

    And I kept acting

    like there’d always be

    one more sunrise

    to get it right.

    One more apology.

    One more attempt.

    One more chance

    to become someone

    I could live with.

    Now I stand here

    looking at the wreckage

    of all the things

    I thought I had time for.

    And maybe

    that’s the cruelest lesson—

    how quickly forever

    turns into someday,

    and someday

    turns into almost.

    But I’m not writing this

    as a eulogy.

    I’m writing it

    as a reckoning.

    Because maybe

    being out of borrowed time

    isn’t about dying.

    Maybe it’s about finally realizing

    you can’t keep postponing

    your own life.

    Can’t keep waiting

    for the perfect moment

    to change.

    Can’t keep treating

    your future

    like a guarantee.

    So here I am.

    Late.

    Bruised.

    Honest for once.

    With nothing left

    to borrow.

    Only what’s in front of me.

    Only this breath.

    This day.

    This chance.

    And maybe—

    maybe that’s enough.

    Maybe life begins

    the moment you stop acting

    like you have forever.