In the microcosm of memory's orb, shadows wane to reveal the cartography of absence. Fractals scattered among the day's luminosity interlace with absent cartographers' touch.
Topological hollows etched into consciousness hover, begging for connection. “Markers persist only as reflections of countless seasons forgotten,” the narrative hums, layered upon layer.
Where sunlight merges with obscurity, chaos and order wrestle - creating a lattice of thought. “Can maps exist if not graced by the hands of light?” Leave your question here.