Julian Tanase
Well-Known Member
The silence of the room traces the contours of its emptiness. The stroke of midnight brings the silence down in millions of shards as many moments in time, all falling slowly in the chasms of nothingness, gliding down to a final understanding. Time records and preserves, in its passing and wisdom, all the unheard stories, unlived dreams, spent hopes, hidden desires never shared, all past now.
Time is the master of lives turned to dust. Time is impersonal and cold, it only glances from an eternal, slow moving moment to us, the passers-by. It knows all, sees all, forgets and forgives all.
When time cease to have us, we cease to have time. It speeds up, leaving us all behind, without even looking back, and soon time is no more.
And then, after a while, it’s time again.
Time is the master of lives turned to dust. Time is impersonal and cold, it only glances from an eternal, slow moving moment to us, the passers-by. It knows all, sees all, forgets and forgives all.
When time cease to have us, we cease to have time. It speeds up, leaving us all behind, without even looking back, and soon time is no more.
And then, after a while, it’s time again.
![000074.JPG 000074.JPG](https://realphotographersforum.com/data/attachments/16/16762-b0a27de22bba9dfc66c7c78999fa7b1c.jpg)