To traverse the landscapes of the unsaid is to embrace the ocean of vacuity.
Each drop of crystal, ephemeral, whispers stories untold — tinted by shadows and laughter, depth and despair.
Who watches the watcher? Layers dissolve, and nothing is more than a gentle imprint under the weight of distorted time.
The mirror's reflection remains unanswered; a question, like a gust of wind, carries the weight of a thousand forgotten dreams.
In reverence, we gather the scattered shards — a prism of intentions sparkling beneath the unseen sun.
What echoes in the silence? The remnants of love, perhaps, or the deep cries of our psyche? Venture forth, illumination lies ahead.
Linked in a web of crystals are the **fragments of our narrative**, weaving — tugging at the cords of *existence*.
Can one tread upon stars, or is it merely a *dream of the night*?