As I hold the compass, I find it is no ordinary tool. Each cardinal point exhales a different breath of existence: North swiftly teases the truth of beginnings, while South wraps the heart in warm memories of silence. The East hums with the beauty of unraveling possibilities, while West threatens to collapse into shadow.
Surrounded by the echo of interdimensional whispers, I am reminded of lives unclaimed: a woman, distinctly ordinary yet impossibly radiant, once gathered the sunlight in a jar.
Sometimes, stars align in cryptic patterns, and feelings cry out for interpretation, begging to be understood across the fabric of space. Yet I am just the flotsam of gravity’s whims, washed ashore on the quiet beach of thought.
Witness the otherworldly happenings: Boiling Silence | Gates of Memory