Original artwork description:

There is a place where time no longer flows like a river,
but hangs suspended between two heartbeats.
There, at its edge, lies a narrow street, hidden behind old walls,
where footsteps sound softer, as if being listened to.

A lantern keeps watch at the corner,
an hourglass tied to its frame.
The sand flows slowly — but not toward the end,
toward the beginning — as if counting not what you lose, but what awaits.
A rusted sign reads “This Way,” yet says nothing of where it leads.

The stairs wind upward to an arched gate,
half-sunk in shadow.
Beyond it, shapes dissolve into light and darkness,
and the air grows dense, like the moment before an answer
you do not yet know — but can almost feel.

Here, at the edge of time, neither it nor you decides alone.
You choose the direction; it gives you strength.
You take the step; it turns it into a path.
If you stay still, the edge melts beneath you.
If you move forward, it shifts ahead —
as though wanting to keep you forever between the present and what comes next.

Those who pass the gate say it isn’t a passage into another place,
but into another way of being.
That once you arrive, you no longer count the seconds,
but the moments that are worth living.

At the edge of time, neither it nor we decide alone.

We choose the direction; it gives the strength.
Each step pushes it forward —
a gate that cannot be reached, yet never disappears from sight.

Here, you do not count seconds —
you count the moments that deserve to be lived.

It’s not about who decides,
but about how we walk together with time.
We choose the direction; it shapes the road.
Time cannot decide without our actions,
and we cannot arrive without it.

Materials used:

Pencil, charcoal, acrylic and vernice.