To navigate the abyss of existence, one must first understand the currents of time. Each grain that slips through the hand echoes whispers of infinite dimensions.
In the early hours of dusk on the sixth of Persephon I authored, lay an observation: What if our thoughts draw constellations? Are they stars we suppress? Invisible threads redirecting the hourglass, rewriting narratives untold.
The compass swings wildly, lost beneath the gossamer veils of a sky painted with cosmic dust. I found a path scattered among the remnants of forgotten dreams: now they flicker like stars swallowed by the horizon's bittersweet lullaby.
As you chew on eternity's riddle, do not forget—time licks its wounds silently, wrapping destinies within a shroud of enchanting darkness.
Length of voyage: Endless, as every question seemed to birth tenfold answers that danced beyond the scintilla of comprehension.
Journey onwards: Echoes of Distant Futures | Whispers of Timeless Memories