It started not with a destination, but with a thought. A solitary ripple in the static sea of routine. Morning dew glistened on grass blades, reflecting thoughts that seemed far away, yet oddly familiar.
Walking along the path, each step echoed in the solitude. The earth was firm beneath, a comforting reality contrasting the ephemeral nature of the journey itself. Trees whispered secrets of ages past, their leaves dancing with an unseen wind.
Hours slipped through fingers like grains of sand, yet time felt irrelevant. The journey was the destination— a realization that appeared not in grand epiphanies, but in quiet moments of introspection.
What is a journey if not an internal odyssey? The landscape shifted, not in topography, but in perception. An ever-unfolding narrative written in footfalls and heartbeats.
Eventually, paths diverge, as do minds. Perhaps you will wander these trails again, or perhaps not. Paths Untaken await the curious mind.
We are all travelers in time's relentless flow. Remember to pause, to gaze, to reflect. Memories are the true compass.