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外链地址
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Morning sits upon the window
like a quiet thought of glass.
Dust floats slowly in the sunlight
while another hour passes.
Every clock is softly breathing,
counting footsteps we can’t hear.
Time walks gently through the hallway
and disappears from year to year.
We collect the fragile moments
like letters never sent.
Every smile, every silence
is a piece of where we went.
Yesterday is just an echo
folded somewhere in the mind,
a fading photograph of footsteps
no one ever thought to find.
Time is not a rushing river,
it’s a shadow learning how to stay.
It lingers in the quiet corners
where forgotten memories lay.
And the longer that we wander
through the days we cannot keep,
the more we learn that every moment
is a promise made by time to leave.
Someone laughs in distant summer,
someone cries in winter rain.
All our lives are passing seasons
stitched together by the same.
Even love is just a traveler
resting briefly in our chest,
before it leaves another story
in the silence of the past.
Maybe time is only patience
wearing out the edge of pain,
teaching hearts that every ending
is a door that once was flame.
Time is not a cruel illusion,
it’s the quiet shape of change.
Every loss becomes a lantern
guiding us through shifting days.
So we walk beneath its endless sky
with hope we cannot define
knowing life is just a moment
in the long breath of time