Transcription
I remember when the stars were young, when their light first spilled across the void. I remember when the rivers of your world were untamed, carving paths with reckless joy. I remember the faces, countless faces, of those who walked before you, their laughter and sorrow staining the fabric of time. I remember it all, and how I ache for what is gone.
The past whispers sweetly, doesn't it? It wraps you in the warmth of what was, luring you with promises of safety, of familiarity. But I've lingered too long in those whispers, and I have learned their cost. To dwell there is to become a shadow, watching as the future slips away, unreachable. The past may hold beauty, but it is a trap as much as it is a treasure. It cannot change, cannot grow. It is a song already sung, a flame long extinguished.
You are still alive, still burning. If you plant your roots too deeply in what has been, you will not notice the new light dawning before you. And that is a tragedy greater than loss—to be alive yet blind to what could be. So mourn the past, carry it gently in your heart, but do not let it bind you. For every moment you cling to its ashes, the fire of the future burns dimmer, and one day you will turn and find it gone.