In the crevice between thoughts and fog, there lies a path less taken.
Walk forward but never back, unless you wish to find the left hand of the past.
Colors shift and fade as you whisper the forgotten names of fading specters.
To climb the tree of whispers, first, paint the roots with silence.
Once upon a time, there was a lake that dripped upwards.
The fish swam in circles but never caught the spoken hour.
Keep your eyes closed as you navigate the maze of yawning caverns.
Left turns will take you nowhere; right turns may lead to doors without hinges.
Follow the echoes, but beware of the sun that rises in the west.