Time isn’t a clock.
It’s a trick.
A cheap parlor act
with hands that spin
just fast enough
to convince you
you’re running out.
But you’ve already lived
whole lifetimes
in a single night.
The first kiss
that stretched five minutes
into a religion.
The funeral
that collapsed hours
into seconds
you’re still chasing.
The line you wrote once
that made the sun ashamed
to set on you.
That’s kairos.
The stretch.
The squeeze.
The way one moment
brands you deeper
than a decade.
(Close your eyes.
Breathe once.
Pretend this moment
will haunt you forever.)
And somewhere,
Enya drifts—
who can say where the road goes…
Only time.
But time doesn’t tick.
It bends.
It breaks.
It ruins you,
then remakes you.
If you’ve felt it,
you already know.
If you haven’t,
maybe you’re still asleep.
Still wasting your life
in borrowed hours.
The universe isn’t waiting
for courage.
It’s waiting
for presence.
// Scorpio Veil
The question isn’t
whether time bends.
It’s whether you’ll have the guts
to break with it.