筆舌

Everything flows, everything breaks, and everything is repaired as it can be. People leave, come back, borrow five thousand and forget, get married, get divorced, write "how are you?" after many years. And life still goes on with burnt dinners, bad test results, and quiet songs in a bar that's no longer there. There's a gentle swaying in that sound between "it's already late" and "there's still time." Fatigue that suddenly becomes wisdom, and laughter stuck between the throat and the heart. The warmth of old habits, the hum of streets where other people's children grow up, and a strange calm from the thot that nothing is eternal except the very fact that you are alive.