Once, I felt the edges of time gently brush against my skin. There was a memory of a sound, like echoes of footsteps in an abandoned dream. Shadows spoke in languages I almost understood, suspended in amber like thoughts waiting to be born. The question lingered: who spun the threads of our waking minds? I wandered through corridors of thought, sliding doors appearing and disappearing, but every answer only revealed more questions hidden in the dark folds of consciousness. In the Cracks The Knotted Path Dreams Unraveled