I hate blank pages. But there are something i hate more. And that's me being complacent or my mind being incorrigibly blank. I hate being that person whose comeback is always 1.6 minutes late. I hate myself when i know better but don't do much about it. I should be attempting lot more than i am currently daring to in any case. I'm so fucking scared all the time but i hide behind my coy smile. I should be investing more of my breaths into things that might outlast me. Instead, i'm silently carving out an image that doesn't suit me anymore. I'm not what i was during the noughties. If there is one thing that i've realized on my own, it has to be the proper evaluation of time. They say time doesn't wait. Why would it? And for what? It's meant to keep moving with whatever happens. So, the only way i can make it is by being in collusion with its dynamics. Once i do that, i'd stop time-traveling and reply just in the right moment. I might even end up in a place where i shall dictate the terms—not my circumstances or my inadequacies. Only me. If i don't give myself time to catch up with time, i'm bound to fill up the blankness of my existence with something worthwhile. Hustle is the keyword here. Because that's what matters in the beginning as well as the end.