Wrapped within the curvatures of your ribcage, an ancient pulse winds its way through sinew and bone, a lighthouse in the fog of existence. It calls softly, a siren’s elegy, formless yet intimate, sculpted from echoes of a primordial song.
Each thrum tells a story, woven through the heart's labyrinth, whispered like the secrets of a forgotten cosmos. The vertebrae dance to this rhythm, a spine's gentle undulation that speaks of time's embrace and the quiet longing of celestial bodies to align.
Listen closely, do you not hear? Soft winds that carry tales unspoken, fractured silences that echo in the corridors of your mind, waiting to be charted and understood beyond the mere flesh and marrow.