Moments

By Srishti Roy

I often wonder at History [with a capital H]. To hold the secrets of every living being there is, and to hold them well. To cherish every step, every sound, and every silence with a childlike wonder. To be made up of things so profound and radical, yet sweet and simple. 

And untold.

Every second, another life-changing event (or one that has no consequences) is added to the vaults of History. Stored away, hidden until it is typed into a school textbook (or lost to the folds of Time [with a capital T]). Our whole world revolves around Time, and yet we have no sense of it at all. We try to bend it to our will, because sometimes it is too little, and sometimes too much.

The only thing we don’t realize is that Time does not care much for us.

And that is how Life is, until We come along to pick up the shards of Moments.

Little nobodies who cut themselves on the piece that has gone deeper than it should have. These pieces hold more of us than History ever could. 

Embedded into our very skin. Leaving a deep scar.

But it is a scar of pride, of Love. To cherish this love is to love life. And that is why Life hurts. That is why Life is so dear and precious to us – because it can both save us and destroy us.

Soon, the scar will fade, and so will the memory. That is how We are. We are made to forgive and forget, and finally move on.

 Moments are infinitesimal. Moments are nothing more than a speck of light in a universe of it. However, they are not insignificant. And if you are reading this, know it.

Moments hurt.

Moments heal.

Moments make us Hope.

By Srishti Roy