For centuries, the sky refused to rain. The land cracked, the people prayed, and still, the clouds held on — until they burst not into water, but into dust made of dreams never released.
By GoldenSpeech3 months ago in Chapters
A seed chose never to grow, content in its promise. Centuries later, it was still perfect — and utterly forgotten.
In a perfectly round room, a traveler lost all sense of direction — and with it, his sense of self.
The stone achieved immortality, but cried for the beauty of things that end.
The sea envied the sky, and the sky envied the sea. Between them, the horizon sighed — content to be both.
It glowed with frost instead of flame, illuminating truths but freezing those who sought them.
A wanderer found a door that led only deeper into itself. He is still walking.
A sculptor carved a bird from dust. When it flew, it scattered itself to nothing — but for one moment, it was alive.
In a hidden valley, trees shrank into seeds every winter. The locals called it dying. The forest called it remembering.
He painted canvases no one could see — yet in the gallery, people cried without knowing why.
A bridge spanned a river no one crossed. It didn’t crumble — it simply waited, certain that someday, longing would remember how to walk.
A small shop sold blank books with titles only. Readers bought them to imagine what could have been written.
