Once, there was silence, punctured by the sound of forgotten promises.
The stars whisper secrets in a language older than understanding.
Underneath each thought lies an ocean of invisible roots.
In the embrace of solitude, one finds the paradox of absence.
The heart beats to a rhythm beyond time, echoing through corridors of memory.
Eight wings for the skyline, and one for the ground beneath.
To soar is to accept the weight of the indifferent earth.
Reflections in puddles mirror the expanse above.
Each wing represents a choice, and in choices lies the contradiction of freedom.
The final wing folds inward, a gesture both closing and infinite.