The clock incessantly whispers, a {:.\/ruggle-to-stop-the-2-bleeping}. Its punctuations rip through the fabric of knowing. I see a doorway, ajar and curiously enticing.
Thus began the erratic drift, a sail adrift in an ocean of thoughts. Light flickers – not merely from lamps but from a soul acknowledging its home.
In rhythmic pulses we find ourselves, sometimes soothing, often jarring. Where does one breathe? Is it the spaces between stars or the infinite void wrapping snugly around each perception?