Tomorrow's Collapse
Time whispers on the edges of perception, a melody unheeded. In its cycle, in its spin,
the universe breathes, and in the inhalation, it creates. In the exhalation, it dissolves.
Tomorrow comes, as it always does. Tomorrow comes, and we brace for nothingness.
What does it mean to build when all is ephemeral? To gather, to create, to weave the
threads of existence into a tapestry that unravels at the touch of time's hand.
Tomorrow's collapse, tomorrow's rise. Tomorrow's promise, tomorrow's shadow.
In this dance of perpetual becoming, the questions linger, unanswered and yet
known: Is there solace in the cycle? Is there freedom in the inevitability?
Collapse brings clarity, collapse reveals truth. Collapse, the beginning, collapse, the end.
Perhaps we are the dream of a distant future, the echo of a past we do not remember
but somehow know. Perhaps we are the moments between breaths, the silence between notes.