At the heart of everything, time stands still. It waits on the edge of uncertainty—where a breath is drawn, where a shadow stretches, where a word lingers in its own echo. No one sees it, no one touches it. Yet, it is there. Without a witness, it dissolves into oblivion; with testimony, it carves itself into the fabric of existence. Time drifts through us like a silent watcher. In unnoticed moments, it shifts its form—disappearing in a breath, multiplying in a gaze. It does not cling, it observes. And as it watches, it seals our presence, binds us together, makes us whole.
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