VANITAS

接受流逝，接受遗憾，与时光握手言和。

I watched you count the grains of sand,
As if one more would break the glass.
You begged me for a slower hand.
I never sped or slowed a thing.
You called it loss. I called it morning,
Then the sun.
You asked me for a stolen year,
The one you wasted on a lie.
I gave you back the mirror.
You refused to meet your eye.
I am not cruel. I am not kind.
I am the space between the ticks.
You fill the silence with your grief.
I am the clock that never clicks.
I have seen ten thousand seasons turn the same leaf.
You are not special in your sorrow.
Every heart that ever beat has learned to bend before it breaks.
So here is what I offer:
Not a cure, not a rewrite.
A hand that holds the wound with you,
Without a reason or a cause.
The tide will leave the shells behind.
The wound will scar.
And you will stand where you once fell,
And see the stars.
I do not heal. I do not break.
I only stay. Let go the fight.
Surrender the control.
The years will take your mother, your youth, your certainty, your door.
You will still be standing there,
A little less than before.
Less is not a curse.
Less is the shape of what remains.
So stop asking me to stop.
I cannot. I am not the one who moves.
You fight the current, then call the current cruel.
Drop your hands. The water was never your enemy.
It only carried you downstream,
To where you always meant to be.
When the last grain falls,
And you have no more tears to spend,
You'll see me not as thief or judge,
But as the silence at the end.
Time doesn't heal.
It doesn't hurt.
It just keeps going.
And so do you.
And so do you.