To chart a land unseen, {roots draw paths} across constellations that echo in reverse.
Imagine rivers that flow uphill, and mountains whispering secrets to the dusk winds.
The ink; a remnant of twilight, stains the pages in shades uncertain.
Boundaries are illusions, maps folded in the geometry of memories,
overlapping {unanswerable questions} with a compass that spins erratically.
Notes left scattered, beneath layers of sediment and time:
"Find the valley where dreams coalesce before dawn's first light—a
realm untouched by history.",
they say.
{{Peninsulas of forgotten lore}} linger in the margins, swaying {with the hum of}
imaginary tides.
Remember, the winds here are named after hopes never voiced.
Another path unwritten: chasing the echoes of the last cartographer.