Time moves the way water does; never asking permission, never returning to the same place twice. We watch our lives drift by in reflections, recognizing ourselves only briefly before the current carries us on.

Life unfolds in seasons. What blooms fades. What falls away makes room for something unnamed. Change arrives not as promise, but as fact; indifferent to desire, immune to longing. We do not progress so much as continue, carried forward by forces we did not choose.

There are bridges we must cross, though nothing waits to receive us on the other side. Mid‑span, suspended above motion we cannot stop, the illusion of stability fades. Below us, time flows on. Ahead, the shape of life remains unclear.

To live is to walk anyway. To step forward knowing there is no final shore. To accept that time flows, seasons turn, and we are changed not by arrival, but by the quiet courage of stepping onward while everything beneath us continues to move.