heaven isn’t a paradise. it’s familiarity and happiness.
I follow the starlight in the sky.
As the crowd writhes during the contortions of time, only one person remains still.
The clock’s hands arrive at 00:00.
the time moves like quicksand.
Where humans interfered with Fate is where the moon become a black hole shadowed with evil and consequences.
the colors of the season becomes nothing but a gallery of time’s woes and triumphs.
here, the past, present, and future are one.
the strands of time split off.
our lives wither away, like dying flowers.