Every moment I'm not creating feels like something wasted, something I can't get back. The sifting sands of time seem forever shifted out of my favor. There's an urgency, I don't know why, that causes me to constantly push and run for a finish line I can never reach, a resting point just out of my grasp. Perhaps it is because I'm still young, and do not yet value the longevity of time. It seems to pass too quickly. I'm running on sinking sand.