* Wanderlust emanates from the deep core of self. Is it a wall, or a reflection? The desire, a forgotten letter found in an unread tome of memories. Excitement, tinged with trepidation, spins like a silver thread through a needle's eye.
* Ghosts of yesterday dance on the edge of perception, here but not, felt but unseen. An echo, a shriek in the void, "What lies beyond the forgotten lid of truth?" and still, one sighs, the universe contracted yet expanded—a cosmic paradox crawling with quiet chaos.
* Laughter like a fleeting bird, soon eclipsed by shadows...? Tickling one's insides, assertive yet tentative as if tasting the air before flight. Beware the spaces in between, where gravity tugs with the weight of countless stars merely waiting to burst.