In the midst of the path, I find my stepping stones. Each footfall an echo, an invitation to linger, to breathe. The journey twirls around, like a waltz in a forgotten ballroom.
The whispering trees murmur secrets in the dusk. Every leaf a legend, every rustle a reminder of what was and what could be. Pause, reflect, repeat. The rhythm is unbroken, an infinite circle chasing its tail.
Wondering where the sky meets the earth, I tread earth's threads weaving between the stars. I dwell not on destination, but on this continuous spin.
The paths diverge and converge, stories entwining like vines grasping at the sunlight. Choices form bridges, walls, mazes, and each metaphor reshapes itself anew, endlessly and exhaustingly.