
I once wore strength like a heavy winter coat — a shield against seasons of survival and fear masquerading as grace. I have worn many ghosts of myself; they were echoes of the world’s demands. Now, the air has cleared. The cover of my story bears no face. It is a manual on how to rebuild the clock while the gears are still turning and the seconds are still screaming. For I am the architect of the calm — a blueprint I must guard, a choice I must make moment by moment, with a steady hand.
This time, forever.
Leave a comment