Descending from the cloud's embrace, I feel the gentle paradox of time’s reverse. Here, among the torrents of the ephemeral sky, I contemplate:
As droplets in a synchronized ballet, we fall, rise, and fall again in loops past the earthly threshold. Is there a beginning to my journey? Or an end that collides with stone or sea?
In the reverse flow, a longing exists not in what I seek to grasp, but in what I already was—the mirror of each ascent revealing the essence of my descent, a silent echo of eternity.
Have we gathered purpose upon our meeting with the expansive ocean, only to scatter into vapor once more? Or shall we intertwine with every leaf, every gust, marking our existence by touch?
Echoes of Time | Whispers into the Void | In Reverse Sequence