Time never warned of its intentions, but the moods have changed drastically like a nightmarish dream. The terse mannerism, the current candor, has been an awakening for the routinely busy world.
Can anyone question a dream conceived by the Universe at a time that has been beyond the consciousness of the deleterious environment? Nothing feels intimate anymore; the embrace of the seasons is melancholic, as if some unknown energy is controlling its spirit, the soul feels diminished by the onslaught of atrocious control of an unrecognizable force.
I sit here longer than desired, alone with my imaginations that barely touch the precincts of the consciousness circling my world. Feels alien at times, the loneliness is less friendly, a type of numbness takes over the space.
Losing track of this time is not my fate, but I have to follow the trail, sometimes dragged along, beyond my control of the frailness that this worldly body is composed of, a rigorous test of time since birth. Why such divergence? It is a growing feeling that the most tenacious beings are now challenged by the malevolent time; beyond calculations and experiments, the misaligned world feels more indifferent.