The sunlight slips through the tall glass windows just after seven. It’s warm, soft, and quietly persuasive – the kind of light that makes the world look a little gentler than usual. I sit with my oat latte, feeling the first calm breath of the morning. For once, the city hasn’t started rushing yet. And maybe, for once, neither have I. I don’t usually sit directly under the sun, but today the light feels like an invitation – not to move faster, but to slow down. To sit, to feel, to be. In this small moment, I wish time could stretch just a little longer. Then a thought appears, as sudden as the sunlight shifting on my table: Time is the only thing that never changes, yet we keep asking it to. When life is heavy, we want the days to disappear. When happiness arrives, we want the minutes to stay. We hope time will adjust to our feelings, our seasons, our pace. But time refuses to wait – for joy, for pain, for clarity, for us. Still, we blame it. We say t...
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