Marrow

There are footprints that walk, in circles, through fog. Each imprint, a word whispered to the wind, dissolving into the ether. Paths leading nowhere, leading to nowhere, yet filled with the silent chatter of forgotten dreams.

In the marrow, we etch our questions—cryptic, abstract, eternal. Why do the stars blink in patterns unknown? Why does the ocean sing a lullaby to the void? These inquiries linger over barren landscapes like unspoken oaths.

Labyrinths | Murmurs | Echoes

Remember, dear traveler, there is beauty in traversing the circle, in recognizing the spiral's embrace. The footprints remain, a testament to the journey within.