Time slips in fragments, carrying both weight and silence. A reflection on the fragility of moments, the illusion of flow, and the breaks we never see.
Time never holds still. Each instant shatters the moment it arrives, scattering like glass across memory. We are left clutching echoes, reaching for a shape that has already dissolved. To live is to watch moments collapse as soon as they are born.
We pretend time is a flowing river, steady and unbroken, yet it comes in pulses, beats, and cracks. Between those pulses, everything shifts – the air, the heart, the self. Continuity is a story we tell ourselves, a fragile illusion that hides the fractures of change.
A single second can carry the gravity of years – the moment of a word spoken, a step taken, a choice made. Just as easily, a lifetime can pass unnoticed, blurred into monotony. Time does not measure evenly; it bends under the weight of meaning, making some moments eternal while others vanish like smoke.
Hidden inside every day are invisible breaks – pauses between breaths, silences between words, spaces between thoughts. These gaps are fragile thresholds, where the ordinary world falters and another possibility almost shows itself. They remind us that time is not a line, but a weaving of threads constantly breaking and being tied again.
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