Shadow
The shadow inches closer, its form indistinct, with no clarity in what lies beneath it. Sometimes, it breathes warmth, a lingering glow like the last light of dusk, and other times, it curls cold, like a distant storm on the horizon. With every step it takes, the air thickens, the world grows quieter. Each stride carries a cold breeze, soft yet violent, disarranging the autobiographies once neatly placed in shelves. It moves not with purpose, but with inevitability, with each approach, time seems to gather speed, rushing, yet never quite reaching the end. It feels like both an arrival and an absence, as if it holds some unspoken truth, though its face is hidden from view.
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There is a weight to its silence, a heaviness that sits at the edge of every thought, but still, nothing comes. No sign, no shape, no answer to what it promises. The shadow creeps closer, but what it carries is disguised, something both familiar and strange. There is no knowing, only waiting for it to speak, waiting for its shape to give away, offering just an ephemeral glimpse of what it holds within. But in the end, it only moves, stretches, and retreats, waiting for the next sunrise.
-Cringe things I wrote when I was young
