To begin, listen closely. The hum beneath your feet—
it speaks in frequencies you must unravel slowly. Vibrations are whispers,
secrets only known to those who forget their own noise.
Take a moment.
Ggllchh... the walls tremble with truth, cantons of silence
brushed aside by the patina of time. Mark the triangles,
they form paths of understanding at intersections of forgotten memory.
Paths lead to doorways, and doorways to murmurs.
Distant memories blend into the compost of knowledge,
choose to believe or not.