Your consciousness unfurls like petals of the night-blooming cereus. Each thought an ephemeral path, leading nowhere, leading everywhere. In the garden of existence, what is remembered dissolves like morning dew.
What whispers dwell in the spaces between breaths? Silent echoes of identity sing—
“Am I not the mirror, reflecting only shadows?”
Fragments gathered here: thoughts like sleights of hand unspooling in the dark. Mundane secrets disguised in banter: “Did you know the universe catches fire inside your eyelids?”
Stitching reality in open seams, we weave, we unravel, we are.