I don’t have much time, but I guess nobody does. My life is pretty frenetic right now. I still sense I’m making massive progress—at work, life, and uni.

Everything happens fast. I assumed everyone was moving quickly as well. I thought everyone felt the same feverish impelling timeline.

A thing happened. And it was in the stillest place on earth.

A place where time doesn’t pass. No, I will be more precise. Times pass, but it doesn’t count. Nobody is nicked by time. It has no power.

The photo comes with no judgment attached. It’s just a photo, and I’m the photographer.

This post is just a 4d photo. The text is for sensations the camera can’t capture.

The picture feels heavy. Something’s off. It may be because of mirror neurons, but I sense what she feels. And I’m trying to add details to the photo.

There is much space, but she’s not free. The old lady seems relegated to a time prison. Bound by the time spent living.

When you are young, the prison is as big as the universe. You don’t perceive the bars. You aren’t even able to enjoy everything that’s inside because of how big it is. Times flows. It starts shrinking. Things happen. And you are distracted. You don’t notice the walls coming closer. Until it’s claustrophobic. Until you are old.

It feels anxious seeing the walls coming toward you. Now, you are limited. Now, muscles don’t work well. The brain is foggy. Relationships are scarce and flimsy.

Worse than the walls is the mind. A caged mind wonders or, even worse, recalls life stories. It may compare the present and past. And comparison will steal the smile. Completely wiped out.

Maybe gratefulness will soothe the soul.

It’s not only about the perception that the situation is worse now than in the past. At some point, people will numb themselves because of that constricting prison feeling. It seems a reasonable alternative to deal with time passing. Time passing strips vitality away.

The contrast. It leaves me reflecting. There is light. There is color. She’s filling the shapes with pencils. There is light, but she’s not alive. She’s using color, but the atmosphere is grey. Everything happens fast. Everything is irrelevant. She doesn’t even care. Seems obvious.

My perspective on life has changed. I would be the camera to evade feeling. Just a robotic communication of what I see. Sometimes, depression creeps in.