The wheels have started to turn.
Or rather, the wheels have started to slow down, they’ve started to stop and the clock has started its final countdown.
Everyone can feel it, it’s in the air now.
We’ve run out of time, my love has run out of time.
We’re all getting caught up in frantic attempts to tie the ends of our own tapestries perfectly, but while doing that, we’re leaving so many other ends untied, frayed, inexplicably knotted.
And I guess that is how it will remain for the rest of forever, reminding us of our choice each morning, coming back to us with the taste of black coffee, familiar and bitter all at once, reminding us of how we chose the world over ourselves, and ourselves over the world together somehow at the same time, how we chose to be selfish.
You see, it isn’t even a choice anymore; we don’t have an option. It’s been forced down upon us by society, and to choose anything else would be nothing but pure foolery right now.
So why is it that I’d still choose you over everything else?
Published by Momina Talib