Sands of Sentience
Noam’s Thoughts
As I wander through the bustling streets, my jar of sand cradled gently in my hands, I feel the pulse of life all around me. Laughter rings in the air, sharp and fleeting, mingling with the distant hum of conversations, footsteps, and even the quiet sighs of strangers. People laugh, cry, and hope, oblivious to the subtle weight of the world I carry. Each grain of sand I gather holds a fragment of a moment—a story etched in time. A child’s laughter, light and pure, pulls at my attention. It’s the kind of sound that lingers, echoing long after it fades. But what am I really collecting? Not just sand. These grains are the essence of life—unseen, yet deeply felt. And in this sea of faces, I remain invisible. It’s better this way. I am not meant to be part of the crowd; I am an observer, a silent collector of moments. Each grain bears the emotion of a fleeting second—a laugh, a tear, a breath.
