Time
In the approach of winter solstice, autumn has silently departed, leaving behind no trace of its ephemeral presence. As the time for bidding farewell to another cycle of the year draws near, I find myself yet to properly greet the fleeting cycle of time, only to realize that the moment to bid adieu has already slipped away. Though the present surrounds me, my thoughts still wander amidst the echoes of past memories, as if reluctant to evolve at the pace of the changing seasons. Each cycle, akin to chapters in an autobiography, or to canvas of time, possesses its own distinct essence, yet all ultimately converge towards the same conclusion. Despite their varied tales, they are united by a common thread, akin to different renditions of movies derived from the same timeless story. The characters from bygone chapters, once allies or foes, now merely linger as distant acquaintances. The radiant memories of the past unfathomably bring rivers down my cheeks. Now I’m waiting for this new beginning, except it isn’t ‘new’ anymore. Too many versions of the same story have been told that the pattern has been deciphered. The anticipation has vanished, leaving hollow emptiness in its awake.
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➫ 𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈𝓅ℯ𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯℴ𝓃ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸ℯ𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔ℯ 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻ℯ. ℒℯ𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℯ𝓍𝓅ℯ𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓁𝒾𝒷𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁ℯ 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓅𝒾𝓉𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁ℴ𝓈𝓈ℯ𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓂ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓈.
-Cringe things I wrote when I was young
