The child stands before the slow turning of the world,
unaware of the full measure of its cruelty.
There is a stillness in the air,a fragile quiet that feels almost safe,
yet beneath it something restless stirs.
They look ahead with eyes unmarked by experience, but already the shadows of conflict brush against their gaze.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, lives are being broken by the cold mechanics of violence,
though the child cannot yet name it.
They have not learned the language of loss,
but they will.

Time does not stop to shield innocence .
It pulls the child forward,step by step,across the thin bridge between safety and harm.
The edges of their days fray,laughter comes less easily,
replaced by the watchful silence of someone who has seen more than they wished.
Still, inside them,the pulse beats steady.
Against all reason, it carries the small,stubborn hope
that perhaps the world can be gentler than it has been.
.