In the echo of unlit labyrinths, I wander, blinded by the radiance of absent beacons. Each step is an invocation of silent revolutions, where shadows whisper to the void.
What does guidance mean in a world where light becomes intangible static, vibrating through the ether? We grasp at echoes, at patterns in the unseen, trying to forge landmarks in the jungle of the immaterial.
Our thoughts are lighthouses, swaying in sightless seas, beaconing those weary of the shores of understanding. The water’s calm reflects a tempest unseen, a ballet of static lullabies soothing the restless night.