Round. It’s one of those words that feels like it spins as you say it. A shape, a sound, a feeling. Something smooth and continuous—no edges, no corners. It’s the shape of the earth, the moon, the sun. It’s the curve of a smile, the loop of a hug, the never-ending circle of time.
"Round" could be a fight—round one, round two—like a boxer stepping into the ring, fists up, sweat dripping, heartbeat pounding like a drum. Life feels like that sometimes. Just rounds of struggles and small wins, rounds of learning and failing, rounds of starting over.
But round can also be gentle. A round table where everyone’s equal. A round belly of a mother carrying life. The round eyes of a child seeing something new. The way laughter comes in waves—round after round of giggles and chuckles.
Then there’s the sound of round. How it bounces, rolls, comes back again. Like a ball tossed into the air, coming full circle. We go through seasons, through phases, and somehow end up where we began, but not quite the same. Changed. Evolved. Grown.
Round is rhythm. It’s the beat in music, the clink of coins, the ticking of a clock. It’s the cycle of dreams, of habits, of love returning when you least expect it. Round is a reminder that nothing truly ends—it just transforms and begins again.