In the depths of crystalline solitude, where light bends to the will of whispers, I find myself gazing into the pockets of infinite luminosities. The kaleidoscope of thoughts spills beneath the surface like a slow dance of forgotten spectrums.
Have the prisms ever considered their own edges? Their own boundaries? I ponder this, as the refracted self speaks in echoes of silence, questioning the essence of being in a world where light is both the journey and the destination.