My life now is spent like the last flicker of a match, burning but fading, a dim warmth that softens rather than ignites.

The days unravel quietly and in solitude ,each moment slipping like sand through my fingers—weightless, unnoticed, until I realize there’s less of it left.

I no longer chase time with the reckless hunger of my youth, nor do I greet mornings with the urgent need to carve out new paths. Instead, I linger in the in between, where silence ricochets around me.

The dreams I once built like towers stand in the distance, their glow dulled by the fog of my passing years.

The world, with all its rhythms, still hums around me, but I move slower now, regretting watching from the edges, feeling without possessing.

My life is spent, yes, but in the quiet closing of this chapter, there is a stagnant peace that rises, gentle as the last light of day.