7d
The walls had always been there.
Plain. Solid. Reliable.
But now, as you stepped back into the room,
you saw them differently—
not as boundaries, but as settings.
Frames for a scene still unfolding.
The fissure led to an underground cavern.
Walls glittered with crystalline growths,
pulsing—faint, alive—
casting shifting patterns of light.
You reached out.
Fingers brushed a surface, smooth yet singing.
Then—a day.
It began on the crystalline plains.
A fissure, overlooked.
The others moved on, but you felt it—
a vibration, low and calling,
like a whisper in the bones.
Against protocol, you descended,
armed with only tools and resolve.
And then, as if hearing your hesitation,
the wall beside you shifted—
not physically, but perceptually.
It blurred,
its edges softening like the margin of a dream.
Through it, you glimpsed another room.
Not the one you stood in,
but a place just beyond.
A space where light moved differently,
where shadows weren’t tied to objects,
where the air felt written.
Mysteries do not yield to distant eyes.
They must be felt, stepped into, lived.
Mysteries do not yield to distant eyes.
They are known by touch, by step, by breath.
#thought
Plain. Solid. Reliable.
But now, as you stepped back into the room,
you saw them differently—
not as boundaries, but as settings.
Frames for a scene still unfolding.
The fissure led to an underground cavern.
Walls glittered with crystalline growths,
pulsing—faint, alive—
casting shifting patterns of light.
You reached out.
Fingers brushed a surface, smooth yet singing.
Then—a day.
It began on the crystalline plains.
A fissure, overlooked.
The others moved on, but you felt it—
a vibration, low and calling,
like a whisper in the bones.
Against protocol, you descended,
armed with only tools and resolve.
And then, as if hearing your hesitation,
the wall beside you shifted—
not physically, but perceptually.
It blurred,
its edges softening like the margin of a dream.
Through it, you glimpsed another room.
Not the one you stood in,
but a place just beyond.
A space where light moved differently,
where shadows weren’t tied to objects,
where the air felt written.
Mysteries do not yield to distant eyes.
They must be felt, stepped into, lived.
Mysteries do not yield to distant eyes.
They are known by touch, by step, by breath.
#thought
The wall represents the boundaries that separate the known from the unknown, the living from the dead. It is both a physical barrier and a symbolic one—a threshold that defines the edges of reality. it’s not just a backdrop, but a container for the echoes of the past, a structure that both protects and confines.
It had begun while mapping the crystalline plains. The others dismissed the fissure as unremarkable, but you felt something pulling at you—a faint vibration beneath your feet, like a silent invitation. Against protocol, you descended, armed with only basic tools and an unshakable resolver.
It had begun while mapping the crystalline plains. The others dismissed the fissure as unremarkable, but you felt something pulling at you—a faint vibration beneath your feet, like a silent invitation. Against protocol, you descended, armed with only basic tools and an unshakable resolver.
