Time

"When I die,
  don't cry...
  Just look up at the sky,
  and say goodbye."

          For some, dying isn't the worst part. It's a part of life. We start out, we live as long as we can, then we're gone... We disappear. Our souls and spirits head into the great unknown. Our bodies are left behind, stored away in a corner of the earth. Sometimes in a box, sometimes carried away with the wind... All a "firework show" to the world around us. Truth of the matter is, after we're dead, we're just looking down on the world, assuming there's a place beyond. We have no say, we have no cares. We have no REASON to care. We become they, he, she, them, all beings of a past proportion. We're dehumanized, only remembered as a message. A...memory. We're a memory. Our future selves are looking back on our present selves as a memory, so why would it be any different once we're gone? Our presences are missed, but only for a short time. We're forgotten. I'm forgotten. You're forgotten. In time, everything is forgotten. Legacies disappear, and at the end of time, all that matters is time itself, which is the scariest part of life. Something so relative and inconsistent, only retained by beings of our form, should be used as a marker? It too, will be forgotten, in time... Time itself will be forgotten in time, as will I. As will you. We all, just like time, will be forgotten at the END of time... The lights will go out, the stars will burn to their ends, just like wicks in a candle. The universe, constantly expanding, has an end. Time ends, alone. It's alone, just like everything, all alone. Only the difference between us and time is we don't know the time when time will end. The clocks may stop, but time does not. Years go by, but what's a year to God? What's a day to us if we're light years away where time loops and flows slow and thick as honey? Where's time going? Where's it been? Where will it be? Why focus on time..? Time may be all we have, but the time we spend worrying is the time we may have left, even if only seconds. Death and fears consume us, when in all reality, they have their own end. Death has an end once there's nothing left for it to consume. Fears reap on the weary, but the fears bring death, and therefor lost time... Time controls all, when all time needs is for someone to keep control of it. It's a man made construct, something so controlled, that it's started to control the very beings who created it, who curated it, who...control it... So here's my question for you: If time is a figment of our imaginations, who gave us the imagination to create it? And how long do we have left until time changes? Because once it changes, who's to say it's not just our imaginations saying we're here to see it?