Despite my empty mouth, the words are in my mind.

Life, if you keep chasing it so hard, will drive you to death. Time—-when pursued like a bandit—-will behave like one’ always remaining one county or one room ahead of you, changing its name and hair color to elude you, slipping out the back door of the motel just as you’re banging through the lobby with your newest search warrant, leaving only a burning cigarette in the ashtray to taunt you. At some point you have to stop because it won’t. You have to admit that you can’t catch it. That you’re not supposed to catch it. At some point you gotta let go and sit still and allow contentment to come to you.