The past does not stay— it seeps like roots in dark soil. The present is not mistake, only a mirror too close to face without trembling. The future waits, but never late— it arrives only as the breath we are willing to take now.
The past does not stay— it seeps like roots in dark soil. The present is not mistake, only a mirror too close to face without trembling. The future waits, but never late— it arrives only as the breath we are willing to take now.
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