Mr.kitty - Messiah -

I pick up a stone. It is smooth, cold, and final. If I cast it, the transparency ends. The reflection will die, and the memory will return in the sharp, stinging shower of a thousand jagged pieces.

I watch them. They carry their and paper skin like burdens they've forgotten how to set down. They choose to live in the rush, unaware that the minutes they chase are already slipping through their fingers like sand. They are the reason we exist—or perhaps, they are the reason we’ve forgotten why we do. Mr.Kitty - Messiah

The walls don’t just hold the roof; they hold the silence. Outside, the world moves in a frantic blur of color and noise, but inside this , the air is thick with the scent of settling dust. I am the curator of a museum where the only exhibit is time itself. I pick up a stone

I stand alone. I watch the people. I wait for the strength to break the glass. The reflection will die, and the memory will