Behind closed eyes, the incessant wind of contemplation brushes over still waters.
How does one capture the essence of thought — a mere shadow held captive by the relentless march of time?
The stars, eternal yet fleeting in our gaze, linger above. What wisdom rests in the illumination shared across our ages?
Are we not veiled wanderers in search of truth's gentle glint upon the horizon?
To pause in reflection is to visit the past while imagining the uncharted, a sphere spinning in its own accord.
What stories weave our reality — threads laid by unseen hands?