At times even without the direct gaze of another, I find myself intuitively drawn to the emotional undercurrents around me—the silent pull of inner worlds suspended in thought, wrapped in moods I can almost touch.

I  have never looked upon myself with the same careful attention.
And yet I am sometimes unexpectedly consumed by the enigmatic presence of others—the shadows cast by strangers whose names and stories remain unknown. In those moments, I imagine the vastness of their lives, unfolding in unseen chapters and half-finished tales.

Along our separate paths, at our own crossroads, we all move within the inescapable truth of time—a silent companion to us all.

At times I wonder whether we are merely surviving or truly living.

Whether we welcome it or resist it, time shapes us. We learn, we age, and we lose. In these quiet reflections, I linger on its elusive nature—its paradox, its purpose, and the meaning of our brief existence within it.