Story Time, Volume 44
One by one, streetlights flicker on — each ready to do battle against the encroaching evening gloom.
Twelve hours later, they sheathe their incandescent bulbs. Another night of darkness vanquished.
You can't cherish what you can't lose. That's what makes memories special.
Time, that indiscriminate catalyst, spent fourteen billion years moving at one second per second. In retrospect, that consistency could never last forever.
I don’t mind it, usually. But the worst part? While it speed ups randomly, I swear it only slows down when I'm watching commercials.
"The genie told me that if I counted to a zillion," he said, "I'd be granted magic powers."
"A zillion isn't a real number, you know," his friend replied. "It's made up."
He thought for a minute. "Well, of course it is."
His fingers danced, languid over the piano keys, each note a whisper of a memory. The melody wrapped around the listeners, sharing feelings of loss, hope, and unspoken love.
This wasn’t just sound; it was an echo of his soul, resonating with every heart in the room.
