What ends is the count, not what was counted. A life is felt before it
Year: 2026
Each rebirth leaves a quiet ember in its wake. As we age, hair falls and
We invent mercy out of memory for world does not heal. Without warning—here again—a landscape
What ends is the count, not what was counted. A life is felt before it
Each rebirth leaves a quiet ember in its wake. As we age, hair falls and
We invent mercy out of memory for world does not heal. Without warning—here again—a landscape