In the beginning, there was nothing, or perhaps there was something obscured by decayed light. The clock ticks, but the hands are merely shadows. Whispers echo through abandoned corridors of the mind. The book opens, but the words bleed into the margins, a tapestry woven with broken threads.
"Do you remember the place where the sky meets the sea, or was it the ground that cradled dreams as they fell from stars, unknowing and unkind?"
Lost in translation, a phrase misremembered: "The cat danced on the roof of the world while the earth drank rainbows." Time folds upon itself, layers of existence peel away revealing nothing, or perhaps everything.
As you wander through these lost notes, remember to take only what you can carry with sketches of light and echoes that chant. The invisible ink of memory marks its territory in dreams. The wind tells stories only to those who listen.
"They said the rivers ran backwards to forget the path they had taken, a journey uncharted, a tale untold."
Each chapter, a fragment, a forgotten song, a promise unkept, a flicker in the vast expanse. Touch the silence and see what unfolds in the quietude.