The birds sing the same songs every morning, the wind dances through the grass, the sun leaves nothing to the imagination.
I push myself forward, my heart paces faster, my skin wrestles with the heat. I thought I escaped, but every step I take leads me to the same place.
The birds stop singing, the wind flees the scene, the sun shies away. It passes by in purple. Its wings take charge of time, as the pillars erected by nature turn yellow and begin to fall behind me. Are those trails it’s leaving? Aren’t they built to last?
People walk past me. I look at the ground, trying to avoid the cracks of time. I see something, and it breaks under my feet. Painted orange by old age, it fails to fight the heaviness of my weight.
Everyone sees black, but I’m disillusioned by its façade. Amidst the turbulence, I move forward, following its colorful hues. The birds encircle me, trying to feed me some of their fear. The wind returns to push me back. The sun colors me red, but all I see is purple.
How do I take charge of time?