Is it ever too late?

Skeptics and naysayers, the gathering of fools and the wise, all you pessimists and optimists, I point fingers today, and call out all names of the people. If a man has walked the path of wrong, burnt bridges and broken cords, is there a way he can unwalk this path? Is there a path that he can unchart? Is it ever too late to start over again? Is it ever too late to remake what we have destroyed? I know the pain of starting over, for the always good disappears together with the bad, and all the thorns you walked over, and the blood you shed ends up in vain. I say it’s never too late until it’s too late. Young man, you whose fountain of dreams had dried, wake up and start digging. You man, whose family knows not how to smile again, ashes are not going to solve your problems. As long as you are still alive then there is hope. It is enough that you have regretted, but nothing will change if you keep carrying a cross that is of negative consequences. Woman, give up not on your man because you found a new and better option, for new always gets old no matter how glittering it seems. I believe that everything was made before it was wrecked, and though we cannot mend some, we can always try to patch them together. Forgiving someone may cost you your pride but not forgiving them will cost you your freedom (Lyrical Loowy). It is hard to say you are sorry, but it is even harder to undo the harm and regret a simple word would have saved you. It is hard for people to accept their wrong, but it is even harder to see joy slowly seeping out of our lives and disappear in a cloud of dust. Is it ever too late? Yes it is, for we can’t repair a shattered mirror. We cannot call back joy when it bangs the door in our faces. We cannot call back love when she completely fizzles out of our lives. A childhood wasted is a childhood gone, a moment wasted is a moment gone. We cannot call that back. It is too late when we can no longer find ourselves in the maze of our lives. It is too late for a fly that lands on a stay-at-home spider’s web. It is too late for the lazy cockroach that the rolling pin landed on before he could run. It is too late for a man who lifts his head only to find the headlights of an oncoming truck in front of his face. It is too late for that man with eyes that refused to see and ears that refused to heed. It is too late for he who never lived. It is better a mountain of unbridled nightmares than a mound of unpursued dreams. Is it ever too late? That question is relative. Only the graveyard can give the absolute answer when the sun sets in the evening. But it is too late, when you can no longer wake to make things right.