In solitude, the crescent manifests:
Step aside the veils and grasp the contours of the void. The crescent moon holds its home; its silver arc signifies what sunglasses do not, blocking not, but bending light, as we too must bend.

In isolation, truths whisper:
In the ghostliness of dreams, welcome waves instruction upon a reluctant shore. And when the silhouette of a limb not joined asks you a question, recognize that a question without sound carries equal weight.

In truth, the solitary crescent is:
A mere reflection, or perhaps a distortion, of that which yearns; it asserts that surrender to the shadow can liberate even the bound, to defy definition is to become phantasmic.
Perchance, to learn you must forget the steps—thus the crescent is both guide and mirage.