Time Isn’t Promised

Time Isn’t Promised

We say it all the time, almost like a ritual.

"We should catch up soon."
"I'll text you tomorrow."
"Let’s grab coffee sometime."

We say it because we mean it — in the moment.
We say it because it makes us feel connected without demanding much of us.
We say it because we assume we'll have time.

But the hardest truth that life keeps teaching us, often in painful ways, is this: Time is not promised.
Not to you.
Not to me.
Not to the people we love.

We live under the illusion that there’s always a later.
That there’s plenty of time for reunions, plenty of tomorrows for forgiveness, for laughter, for one more hug.
We put off the simple, sacred moments because we’re busy chasing deadlines, distractions, and daily chaos.
We tell ourselves, “They’ll understand. They know I care.”
But what happens when they don’t get to hear it?

I’ve been there.
I’ve scrolled through my phone, staring at names — old friends, distant family — thinking, "I should call them."
And then I didn’t.
Because I was tired.
Because I was busy.
Because I believed I would always have more time.

Sometimes, I was lucky.
Sometimes, I reached out in time.
Other times? I didn’t.

And now their names sit on my phone like tombstones — frozen reminders of moments I can never get back.
Memories of people I never made enough memories with.
Conversations I thought I’d always have, now permanently unfinished.

We don’t talk enough about the kind of regret that comes from inaction.
It’s not just grief over losing someone.
It’s grief over the love we never expressed.
The apologies we never said.
The gratitude we never showed.
It’s a different kind of heartbreak — the heavy, hollow ache of almost.

You think you have time to call your dad after work — until the phone rings and it's bad news.
You think you’ll visit your grandma next month — until you realize next month won’t come for her.
You think your best friend knows how much they mean to you — but you never actually said it out loud.

And so many of us are walking around with unsent texts, unspoken forgiveness, and unexpressed affection, simply because we kept believing that someday would arrive neatly on our schedule.

But someday is not promised.
The better time is not on the horizon.
The better time is right now.

Time doesn’t care about your plans.
It doesn’t wait for your perfect schedule, your polished words, your best self.
It moves, relentlessly, whether you are ready or not.

If you knew today was your last chance to say what you needed to say, who would you call?
What would you tell them?
What would you want them to know, with absolute certainty, if you didn’t get another chance?

Whatever your answer is — do it.
Today.
Not later.
Not when you're less busy.
Not when the moment feels more polished or perfect.

Call them even if your voice shakes.
Send the text even if it’s been years.
Forgive even if the apology wasn’t perfect.
Say “I love you” even if you think they already know.
Because there is no such thing as loving someone too much, but there is such a thing as loving someone too late.

When it comes to the people we love, it’s better to be awkward than absent.
It’s better to stumble over your words than to carry words you never said.
It’s better to show up messy, imperfect, and unsure — than to stand at a funeral wishing you had.

One day, all you will have are memories.
Make sure you have enough of them.
Make sure the people you love know they are loved — not just because you thought about them, but because you showed them.

You don’t get to promise anyone your time tomorrow.
But you can give them a piece of your heart today.

Because time isn’t promised.
But love?
Love is.