Rust - the value of the time

For the realization I reasoned on the value of time, of what has been and what presumably will be; on the memory of the time that has had value for us; on the loss of that value because something cracks, time passes, oxidizes, rusts, corrodes and wears out.
We think that time has a value when it brings us something good but perhaps even when it eats us alive it is precious, even when it denies us something or everything is worthwhile.... We who are not willing to lose anything and who outsource the memory to the machines, our photos, music, documents, vowels. Rust is part of things, it's not extraneous, it's not foreign.
A piece is not affected by rust: it oxidizes, it is rusty. We are our mutation, our pain, aging, malaise, panic, anxieties, desires and sighs.
I chose pencils, precise tools, unaccustomed to the unexpected because they are like people: we are all constantly trying to organize and manage, we try to have everything under control.
But then comes life.
When rust found me I wanted to let her have the field: she's uncontrolled, spiteful, she needs her time, there's nothing you can do but wait.
It's like life: you do everything to make it go as you plan but she has her own itinerary and there's not much you can do about it.