As dawnbreaks upon the mosaic of memories, one finds solace not in the expanse of known spaces, but entwined within corridors where shadows of thoughts wander aimlessly. Walk these hallways, stained with the passage of eons, where even sunlight becomes a ghost.
"Why does the marble cool beneath my hand?" you wonder, but the marble answers not; it has forgotten all questions. Serenity sits silently, etching through the agony of doubt, whispering a truth old as the galaxies. Remember, the heart's echo finds no ear, but here, in silent symphonies, the room listens.
Contemplate... as ripples upon a lake, perhaps the raindrops remind the stars of their nigh, a truth they too learned in their eternal dance. Each step a raindrop upon the lake; each thought, a ripple in the age of your becoming.
Proceed to the ThresholdAnd long after you journeyed through this maze of marbles, frozen in contemplation, remember that perhaps nowhere is home, but everywhere is becoming.