There’s a "new gen" rhythm to the world these days like a high-speed train speeding across endless tracks. Everyone seems to be onboard, racing ahead, eyes set on horizons that blur by too fast to catch their details. And here I am, standing quietly on the platform, watching the sparks fly past, clutching a ticket stamped from a year that feels like yesterday but somehow belongs to a different life.
Those moments, the ones that once felt so alive, now feel like distant echoes in an empty station. People who once walked beside me, sharing laughter and secrets like treasures in their pockets, have wandered onto their own trains. The promise of reunion hangs in the air, fragile as mist, but the days grow into months and the platforms empty. And yet, I remain rooted, not by stubbornness, but of memories that refuse to dissolve into the rush.
It isn’t about chasing the speed of passing moments; it’s about savoring the spaces between. The world changes, fast and relentless, like winter’s chill folding into spring’s warm embrace. People change too shape-shifting like shadows at dusk. But there’s a part of me that holds fast to the slow burn of connection, the kind that doesn’t flicker out in a whirlwind of distractions.
Maybe I’m not moving backward, just moving differently. While the world sets its pace in double-time, I’m learning to find peace in the quiet cadence of my own steps. Here, in the stillness, stories breathe. Here, bonds stretch without breaking, even if the distance grows.
In this fast-forward symphony, I am the note held long, the echoed refrain. And perhaps, for those who still listen, that’s enough.