There’s a quiet truth we all know, but rarely speak of: life is fleeting.
It doesn’t matter how long we live; in the grand timeline of existence, our presence is a flicker. A breath. A heartbeat. Days blend into weeks, and weeks melt into years. One moment we’re making plans for the future, and the next we’re looking back, wondering where all the time went.
We like to believe we have time. It’s one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves that we can delay the apology, the phone call, the dream, the change. But time doesn’t wait for us to be ready. It slips away in silence while we’re scrolling, worrying, and procrastinating. We don’t notice its passing until it has passed.
And the truth is, most of us don’t appreciate life until it begins slipping through our fingers, when we lose someone too soon, or face our own mortality in an unexpected diagnosis, or wake up one day realizing we’ve spent more time surviving than actually living.
We waste so much of our lives waiting for the “right time.” But here’s the secret: There is no perfect time. There’s only now, this moment, this breath, this fleeting second. That’s all we are ever truly promised.
So what does that mean for how we live?
It means we have to stop measuring life by the length of our to-do lists and start measuring it by presence. We have to stop treating time like a renewable resource. Because, unlike money or opportunities, once time is spent, we can’t earn it back.
Because time is not just passing, it’s shaping us. Every choice we make, every moment we give or withhold, becomes the architecture of our lives. If we aren’t intentional, we may find ourselves living someone else’s version of a good life. One we never meant to choose.
So take the trip. Say the words. Chase the dream. Forgive. Let go. Begin again.
You don’t need more time — you need to remember that this time is already yours.
And it’s enough.
Because what makes life beautiful isn’t how long it lasts. It’s how deeply we live it while it does.
Tag Archives: Thoughts
Light
the walls whispered
what mouths would not
truth
a fragile thing
tucked beneath rugs
folded into corners of
smiles that never
reached the eyes
love came with conditions
laughter sharpened at the edges
we wore masks
even in the mirror
the house was warm
but hollow
a stage lit for peace
while the ceiling cracked
above quiet wars
still I grew
bent but growing
bruised but breathing
lies build walls
not homes
so I walked out
not with anger
but a quiet vow
to build with truth
to live where the air is honest
and nothing hides behind
the light
Tears
silent rivers tracing
the stories we can’t speak
a language of the soul
soft and heavy
falling to cleanse
what words leave behind
then slip
into the hush
where secrets go to dream
Undercurrent
missing you is a tide
pulling at the edges of my days
a constant undercurrent
that I can not fight or flee
it’s in the quiet moments
when laughter fades
when the world feels too wide
and your absence
fills every empty space
I reach for you in memories
soft echoes of your voice
the warmth of your smile
the way you made time slow down
missing you is more than longing
it’s a presence that lingers
a shadow that walks beside me
reminding me what it means
to love and lose
and keep loving still
Dust of dreams
sometimes I think
there’s something eternal
in the way your heartbeat moves
not loud like thunder
but more like a soft wind
brushing through the forgotten corners
of the cosmos
a rhythm older than language
older even than the first sigh
that split silence from sound
your chest rises like the tide
and I swear the stars lean in
just to feel the shift
the dust of dreams
the quiet particles left behind
by every hope you never spoke aloud
seems to lift as if your pulse
were the voice of gravity itself
and I want to press my ear
to that space just above your ribs
not to listen for answers
but for the hush between each beat
the place where the universe
waits to be reminded
that it is still becoming
something beautiful
Almost
Disappointment is a quiet guest.
It doesn’t slam doors or shout, it slips in softly, pulls up a chair beside your hope, and whispers, “Not this time.”
It arrives in the spaces where dreams once stood.
In the silence after the phone doesn’t ring.
In the sigh after the words you needed go unsaid.
It’s the echo of almost
almost enough, almost perfect, almost yours.
We don’t talk about disappointment enough. Not in the way we should. We call it failure. We brush it off with logic. We bury it beneath gratitude because “things could be worse.” And sure, maybe they could. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Disappointment is love with nowhere to go.
It’s the shape your heart made around something that never quite arrived.
But maybe disappointment is also a compass.
A way your soul tells you: “This mattered.”
A sign that you’re still reaching,
still believing, still alive enough to feel.
So let it hurt.
Let it ache in your chest like rain that won’t fall.
Let it unravel you, just a little, because in the unraveling, there’s room to be remade.
Then gently gather the pieces of your hope.
Not the shattered illusion, but the part of you that dared to want more.
And try again.
Write the poem. Ask the question. Make the call.
Disappointment is not the end.
It’s the comma in a sentence
you’re still brave enough to finish.
Dandelion Dreams
they begin in silence
small suns tethered to the earth
by stems too thin to carry
the weight of wanting
we find them
in cracks of sidewalks
in the untamed corners of fields
where wild things learn
the language of the wind
I pluck one
soft as a whisper
and close my eyes because
dreams need darkness to take root
a single breath
and the seeds scatter
each a wish
each a maybe
each a map
without a destination
no one sees where they land
that’s the magic
that’s the risk
but the wind keeps them moving
and that’s enough to believe
that even weightless things
can find their way home
Scattered
and everything she was
scattered into stars
not with fire
but with the softness
of breath leaving lungs
with the final exhale of something
that loved too deeply
she was not meant to stay contained
she spilled beyond the borders of names
beyond the limits of flesh and time
she came undone in light
now she lives in the hush
between moonrise and sleep
in the way the night leans in to listen
she flickers
not missing
but woven through everything
a fragment in every shimmer
a whisper in the stillness
she is the story the sky tries to remember
each time it burns
Rhythm of life
There are weeks that flow — smooth, uneventful, even joyful. Then there are weeks like this one: heavy, complex, and unrelenting.
It’s hard to fully describe everything that made this week so difficult, but sometimes it’s not just one big thing. It’s a collection of small, sharp edges. The tasks that pile up. The expectations that feel impossible. The unexpected disruptions that arrive just when you thought you had a plan.
Sleep didn’t come easily. Energy was in short supply. Patience wore thin — with others, and with myself. I found myself questioning more than usual: Am I doing enough? Am I doing too much? Am I okay?
The answer, honestly, varied by the hour.
And yet, here we are. Still standing. Still showing up.
There were moments of grace, even in the chaos. A kind message from a friend. A quiet cup of coffee. A small task completed. A laugh, when I least expected it. Sometimes, surviving a hard week is about recognizing those moments and letting them carry a little extra weight.
I don’t write this to complain. I write it to acknowledge — for myself, and maybe for anyone reading this who also had a hard week — that not every stretch of time will be easy. That’s part of the rhythm of life. What matters most is how we respond. Whether we pause. Whether we rest. Whether we allow ourselves the space to be human.
If this week was hard for you too, I see you. Let’s breathe, reset, and carry what we’ve learned into the next one.
Better days are coming. Happy Friday my friends
Much love ❤️
Jennifer
Sunday thoughts
Hey everyone, I just wanted to take a moment to check in and see how your Sunday was going.
I spent the morning finishing up some laundry, then went outside to enjoy some sunshine and pool time. Gosh, it’s been super hot here, but great weather for swimming. Now, this afternoon is some relaxing, and blogging, followed by dinner later.
If you’re working through the day, I hope you’re finding moments of peace amidst the chaos. If you’re spending time with family or friends, I hope those moments are filling you up with warmth and connection. And if you’re taking a break, I hope it’s just the right kind of restorative.
I think Sundays are the perfect reminder that life isn’t just about the big moments—it’s about how we choose to spend the small ones, too. So, whatever your Sunday looks like, I hope it’s giving you exactly what you need.
Let me know how you all are!
The Creative Chic 