It’s so easy to push off everything until later. Much too easy, if he stops to think about it. Sleep later, his mind says. Talk about that later, his mind says.
The later never comes.
So he stays up, watching the digital clock tick forward incessantly, all too aware of the waning night and the pressing urgency of the ever-present moment that encompasses not just this moment but all the moments that are yet to be birthed into existence. So much to do, so much to think, so much to say.
And yet, there is nothing. Nothing that really needs to be done in that one moment, in that one chair, in that one house on that one street of that one country of that one continent of that one planet that exists somewhere in the middle of the cosmos. There is nothing but that one moment, because everything else, even the most important person in the world, do not exist then.
Only this, and nothing more.