You ever wander somewhere for the first time and feel like you've been there a million times before? That's what this place is like, I swear. Unknown paths painted with familiar strokes, like moments caught between dreams and dawn. Sometimes I think I hear footsteps echoing mine, but they vanish, leaving behind a whisper—a secret stitched into the fabric of the wind.
There's something magical here, pasta-plate magic, where the universe spills its leftover daydreams. And the garden… Oh, the garden doesn't follow the rules. Colors bloom like laughter, and shadows dance like they know the steps to an old song long forgotten.
I've met a few souls wandering these paths, their eyes told me they saw a piece of themselves in the mirage. They were searching too, maybe for a home, maybe for a reason, or perhaps just for the hell of it. We exchanged nods like silent companions in a place where conversations are unnecessary and every pause is just a punctuation in the poetry of the universe.
Anyway, if you find your way here again, maybe pause a second and let the garden tell you its secrets. Or don't. I've got nowhere else to be, so I'll just stick around and see who walks by this time. Ah, the garden's up to its old tricks.
Follow the Cosmic Whisper