There exists a space, not of absence but of profound occupation. An emptiness filled with the hushed murmurs of stars that refuse to appear. It's here — in this gentle void — that the heart learns gravity. The kind of gravity that doesn't just pull, but binds, intertwining destinies under an invisible tapestry.
In these wells of quiet introspection, conversations echo without words. A shared gaze, a knowing nod — gestures subtle, but weighty. It's strange how in the absence of light, the truth clings more closely to our skin, pressing down like rain on parched earth, revealing hidden paths where we had once seen none.
Time shifts the sand, making us believe the tide of solitude will wash away memories. Yet, even as we speak of yesterday's winds, unseen forces stretch time backward. Its grip is relentless, but it reveals landmarks of our past, deeply etched into a continuum only understood by those absorbed by the same persistent pull.