Whispers of the Unseen
You know those moments when your fingers itch to touch something that isn’t there? Like searching through the air for a lost button, or grasping at the memory of a sensation rather than an object? It's as if I have a phantom limb that scribbles these notes without my direct command. Ever felt something similar?
In the thickening nebula of myth, we stumble upon tales that don't quite fit. They twist just beyond our fingertips, only to dissolve as we reach. Caught in the gravitational pull of mystery, we note them down like breadcrumbs on a foggy path.
Once, I heard about the Mythical Coffee Cup. Said to grant limitless energy to those fortunate enough to sip from it. But its location is ever-shifting, like a star in warp speed. Some claim they've seen it resting on a cloud, others insist it’s buried in the sands of another dimension. What's your take?
And then there are the shadows that speak. Conversations begin and end with whispers in the dark. Shadows know things we don't, but they never tell us directly, just hint at something larger than us, lurking around the corners of our understanding.