In the murmurs of twilight, a gentle compass karst bleeds shadows into light. What do the stars exalt? A million unspoken verses weave themselves into the fabric of experience. We wander, not to escape, but to embrace the silences that guide us home.
Driftwood thoughts cascade like fragile feathers, catch the ghosts of yesteryear within the folds of an unsung poem. The compass needle sways ever so slightly—north, south, does it matter?
Every heartbeat is a resonance, echoing through uncharted realms.
Beneath the vast orchestration of the cosmos, a singular note resonates—a symphony composed in stillness. Each moment, a note, each breath, a rest. Listening. Always listening.
Bound by the unseen, we are never truly lost:
To Blobbed Ponderings | Echoes of Truth | Infinite Questions