the man and the hourglass

There once was a man hell bent on collecting all the sand in an hourglass and preserving time. It would always trickle, without change in course right through the hourglass, knocking over hours, days, months and years of his life. He was becoming old and weary. One night, he shoved his hand inside the glass, shattering the top of the apparatus and took hold of the sand in his hand. He gripped each grain tightly, determined to keep it forever locked in his clenched fist. But instead of keeping it prisoner like he had hoped, the sand pushed and plowed between his clenched knuckles out the side of his closed fist. Desperate now, he squeezed his fist even tighter, tears flowed heavily from his eyes. But the tighter he gripped, the quicker the sand trickled and flowed. Soon, there were only a few grains left in his palm. Drained and beaten, he loosened his hold and the sand remained steadfastly in his palm, twinkling in the half light of dawn. Tears evaporated, the sides of the man's face twisted up into a somber smile. "That's just the way it is," he uttered. "That's just the way it is."

-sometimes i feel like this man. my mom used to tell me a story like this when i was young and I found myself feeling compelled to bring it to life.