Sometimes, later in the evening, the streets whisper tales they shouldn't. Tales of threads untied, promises forgotten, and eyes averted. The hum of the city grows quieter, yet here in the silence, the noises become clearer. Every unsaid word, every ignored truth begins to take form. And in those lonely hours, realizations break through the cacophony of the everyday, revealing a truth veiled beneath mundane comforts.
Mornings bring clarity. They also reveal what we've hidden beneath the surface during the muddle of night—obscured truths that ache to be addressed. There's solace in admitting these concealments exist, a deeper understanding that comes with acknowledging their reality. The world, vast and indifferent, holds no judgment; it simply is. Each breath we take is another tether tethered to this moment, a reminder that life continues at the edge, beautifully complex in its impermanence.
Perhaps one day, these musings will find themselves etched into stone rather than lost in fleeting thoughts. Climate tales caution those who wish for dainty luxuries without strings. Critics carve truths into budgets and balance sheets; the world reads it more closely than handwritten notes tucked under sleep. And just like the moon sways our tides, each inscription leaves a mark, whether grasped fully or scarcely understood.