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In a world of steel and shadows, time flows like a river of forgetfulness, where seconds are devoured by the merciless beasts of routine, and hours turn to dust on the giant wheels of soulless machinery. I feel like a captive butterfly, struggling in the invisible jar of despair. Around me, stone faces move in mechanical rhythms, people turned into cogs in a mechanism that grinds dreams into ashes, wearing masks of peace in a silence that kills more than noise. Their silence is a mute song that swallows every trace of hope. Seconds become broken hourglasses, their sand slipping into oblivion, and monotony devours every speck of color from my soul, where thoughts dance like shadows of a fire on the walls of a cave, and any burst of light is immediately swallowed by darkness. I have lived among ghosts, loving witches who tore dreams from me, in a journey like a slow dance of suicide on the edge of the abyss. But deep inside, a small flame flickers, refusing to be extinguished, like a lost firefly in a forest of shadows, searching for the night sky. That spark, however faint, keeps life in its fragile web, for just a single spark is enough to ignite a storm of fire, and to turn ashes into flames that dance in the wind of change. I am grateful I preserved the light, that I didn’t let everything perish. What a strange alchemy, to find gold in the ashes of lost time, to see how a small spark can ignite an entire world.

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