The Beautiful Accident
Today feels like an accident. We wake, we rush, we dream, pretending time is endless. Yet every breath is a small rebellion against nothingness. Perhaps the meaning of this day is not to understand it, but to taste it before it dissolves into night, leaving only a star to illuminate a single moment.
I count every minute. Rushing is true, no dreams are left and no way back. I am aware since long I am running out of time.
I hope you are well.
Steem on!
Perhaps we are not running out of time; we are time manifesting through us. Words give life to those minutes we too often overlook. As long as we can still see a star shining in the darkness, a dream may not be entirely lost. I feel well. Your Free Writer label is exquisite; it stimulates the appetite.
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