Time, the eternal river, flows ceaselessly forward, carrying with it the weight of all that we hold dear, and therein lies its tragic nature. It is at once the stage upon which life unfolds and the silent thief that dismantles every moment, leaving only memories in its wake.
Time is impartial, yet cruelly intimate. It grants us the gift of beginnings, only to burden us with the inevitability of endings. Every joy we experience, every triumph we achieve, is shadowed by the knowledge that it is transient. The laughter of a child, the bloom of a flower, the warmth of a lover’s touch—each is a fleeting miracle, destined to fade into the abyss of the past.
But time’s greatest tragedy lies in its asymmetry. It moves relentlessly forward, denying us the chance to revisit what is lost. No matter how fervently we wish, we cannot...