Every breath we take, every sound we make is a moment.
You cannot create or destroy a moment, you can simply transform it from one state to another. Moment is not energy.
But you can make a moment.
A father feeding his family, the cling of a wind chime, the repetitive rotation of the ceiling fan while a young girl ponders about love is a moment.
Clouds forming eclipses in the night sky is a moment.
Moment is neither physical nor virtual, yet you can feel it during the kiss and visualize it on your Instagram timeline.
A run in a park, the Oreo Mcflurry at McDonalds, the cry of a baby is a moment.
It’s artificial yet natural. A drag from the Bali cigarette, the diffused scent of fresh curry leaf or the drying pair of sock on a window pane is a moment.
Moments are defined by Adjectives. Adjectives were defined during a moment. Eureka is a moment.
A moment is to defy all laws of physics; it’s neither space bound nor time; one minute can be too short for a moment and a millisecond too long.
The chirping of a bird, the flap of a tortoise and a falling star is a moment. Our idea of defining these as a moment comes itself from a historical or personal momentary experience.
The fortitude we display to make a choice is a moment. The choice itself is a moment.
The texture of a Red wine, the taste of lime or that late night dirty grid is a moment. Moment is an experience; some are bad.
Excitement is a moment, so is loneliness.
We were born in a moment; in a moment we shall die.
Moment is an aspect of a thing. Moment is obsolete.
My belief is a moment, my ink is a moment; my existence is a moment.
I’m a moment. But then what defines a moment?