Why does time stretch and crawl when our hearts are heavy, forcing us to linger in every aching breath, every heartbeat slowed to a painful drum beat?

How many souls across the world are moving through this endless moment, caught in the quiet waiting for time to mend the fractures of love lost?

Is this the tempo life demands we learn from, slowing the hours when we need to feel, while joy slips through our fingers like sand?

Or is it that when we are broken, we notice everything—the colors, the textures, the edges—while in happiness, we simply float, unaware of the details fading around us?


— Sincerely, Boris