I awoke on the cusp of midnight, the hour when shadows blend with dreams, and found myself peering through the looking glass of time. When you navigate the ether between tomorrows and yesterdays, you realize each choice whispers eternally, imprinting its echo on reality's tapestry.
Last summer, in a field golden with sunrays, I met my future self; an old woman wrapped in melodies of forgotten songs. Beneath sprawling oaks, she traced on her skin the ages passed like chapters of a book, her laughter a gentle reminder that every whisper in the wind carries the wisdom of ages.
The clock that ticks in your chest isn't bound by present or past, rather it dances to the rhythm of possibilities. I learned that in the distant future, we must return to these moments, less to alter them and more to embrace how beautifully alien they feel upon reflection.