why do we wait for catastrophes and hard to mention tragedies, why do we wait for unimaginable atrocities and unfixable maladies to do the things we wish we'd done, or say the things that lived so long on the tips of our tongues that they planted roots and our taste buds are blooming?
why do we wait for the afterthought, the glance back from too far forward, the point of no return to wish we could? why do we wait and what the hell are we waiting for? death? sickness? the beds that adjust their backs so we can see the hospital television just a bit better? for the veins to rise in our arms and the backs of our hands in ways only old age can deliver? are we waiting for an accident, for an excuse, for a giant push from a giant force? what are we waiting for?
moments drip past us like grains of sand when we sit on the beach, aimlessly dipping our hand into them because why not, we have an entire shoreline to play with. until we do not. until we look down and see that the ocean has swept all the sand away and all we're left with is the handful we grabbed before it did. what value each grain of sand has then; what perfect value. how safe we'd hold them. all i know to say my love, is the sea has come and we hold the shore in our hands. what are we waiting for? -- tyler knott gregson.