Counting Time

If there is any one thing over which we seem utterly helpless, it is the steady stream of time. We cannot create more of it, we cannot subtract from it. We cannot accelerate it, neither can we halt it, or even slow it down. We are carried along in its steady stream helplessly, ceaselessly and without respite.
We count the days and the years as we count our most precious possessions. But why? Can time be stolen, or can it generate more of itself, that it needs an accounting?
And yet, in truth, time beckons you to count its every moment. For if a moment passes and you have done nothing with that moment, it will never forgive you.
You, after all, are the only one who can give that moment of your life a meaning.