I am your gift, and your curse.
Sometimes a memento set aside, rarely used, honored but gathering dust.
Ofttimes interpreted as a challenge, a mission, with waste as the enemy.
Both equally valid, for I am the same to everyone.
Short or long, happy or sad and all shades inbetween.
I am all.

I am your gift, and your curse.
You count me, divvy me, scribe me on papers, light me in pixels.
Every moment spent in measuring, its own grain through the hourglass.
Am I the more potent for being measured, or for slipping away?
The answer is always the same: neither.
I am all.

I am your gift, and your curse.

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