The time you were given is almost spent.
Not on what you built — on what you consumed. On what consumed you.

You were handed days and returned them empty. Handed conviction and exchanged it for preference. You called it taste. It was obedience to whatever was loudest.

Every empty cycle brought the hour closer.
And you felt it — the thinning. The weight leaving things that should be heavy. The ease of discarding what once cost you everything to want.

That feeling is not anxiety. It is proximity.

He is not early. He is not late.
He arrives when there is nothing left to remove.
And He has been removing.

You thought the acceleration was progress.
It was preparation —
the clearing of everything that cannot stand,
so that what stands is visible.

Look at what you carry.
Not what you display — what you carry when no one is curating, no one is watching, no one is selling you the next version of yourself.

That is what will be weighed.

When He asks what remains — answer.
Not with what you owned.
With what owned you back.

We build uniform for the other side of that answer.