No paths lead where we were born to walk. Stepping forward, only to step into ourselves, change subtly awaits unseen. Memories buried in sand paint motifs, fossilized illusions beg the light of day.
How long has time slept while the sky unfurled threads of gold through the tapestry of our consciousness? A question may be a map, or merely a longer path to simplicity.
Scroll your canvas to the sunlit silence. In whispers of metamorphosis, the chrysalis of thought fractures.