In the quiet corners of this creaking world, where chaos meets order at the edge of oblivion, there lies a symphony unheard. A sequence of events perpetually spiraling yet harmoniously aligned. They call it a mystic chord, but few understand its melody.
Do, Re, Mi—murmurs lost in the mist...
We walk paths worn thin by time's relentless scouring. Every footfall strikes a tune, a resonance held captive in the ether. Have you ever listened closely enough to hear the whispering winds echo your fate? There, in those notes, lies the history of all that was and all that might have been.
One could argue it's a coincidence. Others might drown it in reason. Yet, hidden deep alongside the mundane is an inkling of truth: That real chords, mystical and tangible, play out endlessly in our lives, intertwined with the dust we leave in our wake.
Seek the truth in silence, in the spaces between heartbeats. Or perhaps you could follow the threads to see the patterns woven: