Time does not come with a drumbeat.
It comes slowly,
infiltrating through small changes:
a change in tone of speech,
a shifting rhythm of sleep,
a question that is no longer the same as before.
The first generation of the world without a center is now aging.
Those who once let go of the system,
rejected structure,
and planted forms in silence—
have become bodies that slowly recede into the background.
And the new generation,
born after the cracking of the center,
is starting to walk at its own pace.
They are not rebelling.
They are not deviating.
They just… do not fully know
what they are really inheriting.
Because what is inherited is
not law, not constitution,
but rhythm.
And rhythm—without fixed markers—
is easy to reread.
In zone 3.5, a group of young people organize a weekly gathering place.
Not because they want to organize,
but because they say:
"The direction can be flexible,
but we still need a meeting point so that we don't dissolve ourselves."
