It's the silence, it's the bitter silence that seeps in through the night.

It’s all those whispers haunting your conscience, all those trapped memories blistering your imagination, it’s all those suffocating dreams drowning your ideas. It blurs your vision until reading is nearly impossible and shakes your hand until all you can do is erase the scribbles on your notebook. It’s, somewhat, a disease. It’s, somewhat, a mystery. It’s, somewhat, indescribable. It’s an emptiness and yet a dose of fulfillment. It’s a comfort and a nightmare. It’s this burden to carry and a guided adventure. It’s life, it’s death, it’s family, it’s friends, it’s your job and it’s your technology. It’s your past, it’s your present, it’s your future. Time, it just has a way of building bridges and throwing rocks. A way of pushing daises and flooding towns. It’s in everything we do, all the matter around us, it’s everything. Nothing happens without it, nothing starts with it, and nobody is ahead of it. Time, I guess we’re all stuck here together.