Slow, slow, slow, slow.
The world is rushing forward, trying to catch a moving train.
Burning up the energy and stressing out the brain.
But I am stepping backward from the universal race,
Finding my own rhythm in a quiet, steady space.
Every single traffic light is flashing yellow.
Trying to inject the heavy static in my head.
One breath, one step—letting all the friction pass.
Watching how the hourglass is flipping through the glass.
Ah, I used to chase the minute like I'm running out of time.
Anxious for the moment when the bells begin to chime.
But now I see the beauty when the movement starts to fade.
Appreciating every single shadow that is made.
And until the baseline takes the chaos from the street,