↔ thought pattern ↔
As the sun dipped below the fragmented horizon, the cacti began to murmur. Legend has it, that's when the mirages dance and sing softly about lost portals and invisible trains. You'd smile, share a joke, but not with words—just a flick of the third eye, casual as breathing.
Whispers from Somewhere
On Tuesdays, they play chess with shadows. Every piece has a story, a fable, swirled in stardust and sprinkled with forgotten promises. It's a game of fate, or perhaps just a way to pass time until the rivers start running upwards again. Casual Tuesday things.