In the world of vibrant certainties, beneath the tangled threads of fate, lies the unseen tapestry of existence.
To what do we owe the artistry of knowledge, when all that is known spills across the table of time like spilled ink?
Perhaps, in the lesser known, the truths hide with shrouded faces, whispering secrets to those who dare listen.
What dance do the stars perform behind our backs, and do we not grieve the steps we never saw them take?
Tread softly upon the paths less traveled, for therein lies the quiet eloquence of unheard stories.
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