We living on a borrowed time.
We are echoes in a fading hall, ghosts humming in the throat of silence, dancing on seconds that aren’t ours to keep — our laughter, a fragile rebellion against the ticking that never sleeps. The sun lends us its light, but even daylight asks for it back; our breaths are debts we pay in whispers, each inhale — a promise, each exhale — a surrender. We build homes on shifting sands, dreams carved in dust and heartbeat, as if the storm will forget our names. But time — time remembers everything. It watches from the corners of our eyes, aging us in half-truths and reflections, turning our yesterdays into rust, our futures into smoke. Still we love, still we fight the dying light — knowing the end was written long before the first dawn. And when the silence finally comes to collect what we borrowed, may it find us unafraid — burning, not fading, alive even in the taking. The Luo Poet | Poetically Speaking & Writing .
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