Echoes of Time

Time doesn't speak. It whispers. In caustic tones, reminding us how often irony takes precedence over intention. Listen close, and you shall hear.

Suddenly, a clock may halt — not to grace you with eternity, but to mock your fleeting moments.

Enter the labyrinth of hours, where every twist and turn yields only repetitive echoes of what could have been.

The secret ingredient is always a pinch of patience mixed with an entire vat of disbelief.

Another dead end or merely a new beginning? The choice is customary; the result is expected.