Follow the scent of jasmine, but only where the moonlight kisses the horizon. Count seven stars and trace them backward into the past. There lies a path made of whispers and dreams, where violets hum secret songs of eternity.
A daydream on the edge of reality, unraveled by passionate intent. To the left, where the river bends like an embrace, linger a moment. The water murmurs tales of lovers lost and found, of journeys that never began yet feel perpetually unfinished.
Ascend the mountain, but avoid the well-trodden road that speaks of yesterday. Instead, dance through the thickets until you discover an unseen glade, where the touch of twilight paints every leaf in silver.
Hold onto these directions, though they lead nowhere certain. For in their uselessness lies the beauty of the journey itself—a journey unconfined by boundaries, guided only by the heartbeat of nature and the whispers of the wind.