Among the untouched corridors of perception, there lies an inkling. They say it’s where thoughts inevitably drift when untethered by form—a continuum vast and silent.
To ponder is to touch the void, and when language becomes less about meaning and more about the rhythm, each word is but a brushstroke on the canvas of nothingness.
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Within the pages of the nameless tome, under margins unseen, yawning glyphs whisper an alphabet of the astral. These are the anecdotes of Dusk and Dawn, when they exchanged roles in unhibernated twilight.
The mind traverses; it does not wander mindlessly. An aimless walk leads to deliberate discoveries.
Passages of Existence Reality Ripples