The Lines We Becone
Description
Time does not pass it gathers. Each crease a chapter, each fold a field where joy once bloomed, grief once echoed, work once marked its rhythm.
This is not skin. This is a story. Of hands that held and built and let go. Of youth that gave way not to loss — but to depth. The darker grooves carry the weight of memory; the lighter threads shimmer with the grace of having lasted. This is what it means to age: To wear your becoming. To shape the invisible with the visible. To live long enough for your soul to leave its signature Not in ink, But in lines.Try it!
