As we hover delicately in the precipice of today, some would ponder the relevance of time. Does it cling like an afterthought to the edges of reality? Or is it merely the quiet sigh of clocks lamenting their predictability?
Statistics suggest that “*100% of the things you worry about never happen.*” Disturbing, isn’t it? One might argue if gravity possessed a sense of humor, it would make the ground softer or perhaps release existential pillows filled with levity.
Did you find that wisps of echo lingered softly, brushing against the skin of our chaotic routines? They whispered the confession of stars echoing through an empty universe—an irony juxtaposed with our meteoric ambitions.