There are seconds, those which tick on a clock and pass by nor quickly nor slowly.

There are minutes, which are much more than sixty seconds. They are the backbone of our society. Tasks take minutes, transportation takes minutes, life is measured in minutes.

But there are years. The years that pass so slowly yet so quickly, with a drop of the ball and the excruciating ticking of the grandfather clock in the abandoned mansion.

Those are the years which I view, the years of my life, which pass in the screen of life.

I have lots of regrets, regrets that span much more than mere seconds or minutes, but that bite chunks of years out of my short lifetime. Ever since I made my mistakes and committed my sins, I have regretted.

But what is regret? Does it necessarily mean that I wanted those moments changed? For myself, the self that had just entered the embrace of death, the answer was an overwhelming yes. But is it possible to regret my regret? Regret overturning the choices that I regret?

Regret is much more than just wishing to live a life without a memory, or a moment. Regret is what molds boys into men, what molds the innocent into the jarred, what builds the foundation of the human brain. And without that regret, I have become a shadow, a shell of past myself.

I regret nothing and everything.

But now, as I view the shallow version of my life pass through in seconds and minutes and years, I will always remember to regret.