I often find myself tracing pathways in the air with my fingertips, as if mapping constellations upon a forgotten celestial map. In those moments, it's as if time cradles my thoughts, preserving them like amber in the tree's embrace.
On the edge of sleep, the mundane becomes extraordinary; a hum of distant machinery that resembles a symphony, a room aglow with the soft luminescence of thoughts stretching into the dark. The limits fade, the borders soften.
Helixes spin within each conversation; words woven with intention and chance happenstance. Even silence carries meaning, rhythmically coiling like a double helix, embracing the notion of both presence and absence.