There was a world here once—before the concrete choked the soil and the sky turned the color of bruised iron. Back when time wasn’t a frantic race against the clock, but a long, unspooled thread of wind that could stretch across the valleys without ripping the flesh off the bones of the earth. The world was young then, its lungs unburdened. The air tasted of sweet resin and raw potential, and the birds didn’t scream their warnings into the smog; they sang, pure and unbothered, as if they owned the eternity beneath their wings.
I miss those days with a vicious, clawing ache.
There was a world here once—before the concrete choked the soil and the sky turned the color of bruised iron. Back when time wasn’t a frantic race against the clock, but a long, unspooled thread of wind that could stretch across the valleys without ripping the flesh off the bones of the earth. The world was young then, its lungs unburdened. The air tasted of sweet resin and raw potential, and the birds didn’t scream their warnings into the smog; they sang, pure and unbothered, as if they owned the eternity beneath their wings.
I miss those days with a vicious, clawing ache.