For The Thief

And one day, the owner will come

I’ve been thinking about death more than usual lately.

In the quiet, intrusive way that slips into your chest when the world finally goes silent at night. The kind of thought that sits with you like an old friend who came uninvited.

Maybe it started with the dream.

In this dream, I was on a bus, coming back from an event. It was late, the Lagos air felt heavier than usual. A pickup truck in front of us overtook with speed. Seconds later—just seconds—we saw it twisted on the road like paper. Two young men. Young, vibrant, alive a moment ago… now lying on the asphalt, still.

Too still.

And suddenly, the meaning of that old proverb returned to me:

“Everyday is for the thief, but one day is for the owner.”

We live as though we own the lease to our lungs. We live like we signed a century-long contract with time. We move through life assuming the sun rises because we chose to wake up.

But in all honesty? We’re fragile. We’re temporary. We’re guests. And yet, we behave like landlords.

We waste time. We carry grudges like medals. We postpone dreams. We delay beginnings. We treat life like a rehearsal when the curtain could fall at any scene.

The saddest part is how casually we exist — not live, exist.

Scrolling through days. Reacting, not creating. Consuming. Moving, but not going anywhere our souls actually need.

These thoughts scare me sometimes.

I’m 21, but some nights I feel like my time is ticking louder than it should. It’s not depression and it's not sadness, trust me. It’s an uncomfortable kind of awareness. It'll make you look at your life and whisper,

"If death comes today, what story am I leaving behind?"

Because I want to be known as the guy who lived.

Lived well. Lived honestly. Lived fully. Someone who didn’t coast through existence like a shadow, but someone who shaped something, touched something, changed something, even if small.

I don’t know when I’ll die. Nobody does. It could be far or it could be tonight. But whenever it comes, I want to meet it without regrets.

Not even one.

Not the regret of silence. Not the regret of cowardice. Not the regret of postponing myself.

Because every day is for the thief — the illusion, the distraction, the routine, the noise. And one day, without warning, the Owner will knock.

And when He does…I want to open the door with a life that meant something.

I hope you do too.