In the farthest corners of what we dare to define as time, lies a repository not of things but of non-things. Welcome to a journey through the fragments—bits of memories, pieces of thought suspended in the amber of the unseen.
Consider the archive not as a collection of what is known, but rather of what could have been. Imagine notebooks filled with nothing but promises, calendars marked with appointments to dreams yet unfulfilled. Each page a doorway, each ink blot a star.
Questions echo here. They always have. Why is the sky when it’s not yet blue? and How tall is the whisper?. These are not just rhetorical but spent, laid to rest among the dust particles that refuse to settle.
Scattered throughout is the essence of paradox, gleaming like dew on a web at dawn. It is said that to understand these fragments is to embrace the unarticulated.