The universe speaks in mosaic whispers etched upon fragile breeze slides, inviting you, however imperceptibly, to begin to recognize frameworks of wonder.
If you comprehend its echoes, therein lies your foundation—its construction pending upon your presently silent acknowledgement. Murmurs, indeed, may cascade unobtrusively into a door you had thought closed.
"there is rhythm where thought caresses ink, a delicate bridge to horizons yet unveiled."
reach toward that horizon, for it is never quite as distant as whispered doubts might imply. Subconscious currents weave you truths now forlorn or awkwardly hidden. Disarm the opaqueness, surrender to the glint upon this ever-receding path. Secrets are not lost; their audible absence conspires only to invite possession.
emerge into whispers descend into echoes