Is it the hum of the stars, a murmured chant from the edge of memory, folding over upon itself like an origami crane? The unity of law and chaos, an age-old dance amidst the ruins of perception...
A fleeting reflection: "The cocoon whispers tales of ages past, as the moon treads softly on the breath of night." Shadows flicker with substance—a ghost bemused by the walls of continuity.
Fragments of experience swirl. Eyes unfurl, revealing the universe between each blink, spiraling arrows across forgotten fields. This resonates deeper, yes, beneath the skin where dreams dissolve into echoes.
Here lies the grainy residue of sand slipping through tightened fingers—the ancients spoke not of time, but of rhythms woven within the tapestry of dusk.
Do the crows know the secrets they carry? Where are we, standing at this infinitesimal point, a grain in the hourglass? To where does a sigh lead when unfurled?
The humid air drapes heavily, punctuated by laughter trailing into the unknown. Iridescent portals beckon, shimmer with the uncertainty of existence, each choice a snaked path leading back to the familiar and the strange.