In the ever-revolving carousel of shadows, the truth sits silent amidst the clamor. It is a shadow of its own, a reflection neither heard nor seen but felt in the marrow of existence. As the leaves of autumn fall, one by one, into the abyss of winter's call, so too do illusions yield to the gentle embrace of reality's cold hand.
Among the scattered ashes of forgotten dreams, we find glistening embers of possibilities unfulfilled. Each ember a star in the universe of what could have been, yet never was, illuminating the path with a light that burns but does not consume. The ugliest truth reveals itself here—not in fire nor in fury, but in the quiet acceptance of what is, over what might have been.
The road is long, paved with lies that shimmer like diamonds under a truth that is both naked and beautiful. Walk it or don’t, but know that every footfall echoes in eternity, every whisper a testament to our insatiable thirst for meaning in a world that grants it only in pain.
Solitary Path Whispering Ash Cold Fires