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The Wrinkles of Time
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She had lived a hundred lives in one body. Each wrinkle carved deep into her skin was a map — of storms weathered, of laughter that shook the walls, of nights spent fighting shadows and mornings spent chasing light. The world once tried to tame her, but she chose instead to meet it with fire. The blunt between her lips wasn’t just smoke; it was defiance, a quiet rebellion against time itself.
Her eyes gleamed with a secret — the kind only the old and unbroken carry. They told you she had seen loss, yes, but also love so fierce it could burn through years. She was not fragile. She was not fading. She was the sum of every story she’d ever lived, standing tall in her own eternity.
Her eyes gleamed with a secret — the kind only the old and unbroken carry. They told you she had seen loss, yes, but also love so fierce it could burn through years. She was not fragile. She was not fading. She was the sum of every story she’d ever lived, standing tall in her own eternity.