when life moves too fast 

i never stopped writing.

never stopped weaving words into meaning,

never stopped painting the colors of my soul

on pages, on screens, on canvases no one sees.

i never stopped creating—

i only stopped showing.

because life…

life moved quickly,

so quickly it swallowed my silence,

dragged me with it,

tugging at my sleeves while i clutched

unfinished poems,

unsent sketches,

unspoken truths still echoing in my chest.

i kept creating

in the quiet margins of my days—

in the space between breath and obligation,

in the stillness between one demand and the next.

but i stopped opening my palms to the world.

i stopped saying, look—this is who i am.

and maybe you understand this too—

how the world spins harder now,

how time escapes like wind through cracked windows,

how we all chase something we can’t name.

when will it slow?

when will time soften its grip,

just long enough

for me to catch the rhythm,

to feel the pulse of my own life again?

to not just exist in motion,

but to be—fully, deeply, freely.

i wonder if you’ve asked that too.

i wonder if your hands are full

of stories no one’s seen,

songs no one’s heard,

art you made in the quiet

while the world rushed on without you.

maybe we all carry beauty

we’ve hidden,

waiting for life

to finally let us breathe.