In the cradle of time, waiting is the universe holding its breath, encompassing dimensions unseen yet felt in the marrow of existence.

The fractal nature of delays—each moment births new possibilities, like branches reaching towards the formless sky of potential.

As horizons echo the footprints of those who ponder, let the cyclical whispers of eternity reverberate through your soul.

Does waiting measure value, or is it a silent teacher of impermanence unraveling the threads of expectation into the tapestry of the now?