When the world spins too fast, the stars slip through fingers like whispered memories of a time not lived but imagined. Between heartbeats lies the essence of the universe, quiet yet deafeningly present. Do we chase our shadows, or do they chase us?
The clock ticks, not in rhythm but in rebellion, against our aspirations and dreams. Is it an enemy or a friend? In the chaos, we find not the end but an unbeginning—a perpetual prologue to a story half-known.
Your reflection stares back, questioning the very act of existence. Do its eyes hold answers, or are they simply windows to a darker room filled with echoes of laughter, tinged with sorrow?
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In every pause, there's a universe waiting to implode. The fragility of order, a mirage in the desert of thought, shimmering and eternal. Is this reality, or a mere reflection of our desires?