naology
“Why did the portal feel so private, when you only entered it when you needed to be everywhere? ”
Garland of Sisters
I arrived in this world through a small archway decorated by starseeds. A deity whispered in my shell: you are an implication, a suggestion of what could be.
Garland of Sisters, this birthing never quits.
I’ve placed five small pink stones in the pocket of my leather jacket. The eye is ambiguous. Nectar of uncertainty, everything I perceive takes the form of a grandfather clock without a pendulum.
Has the lens shrunk, or am I trapped in a room of white?
Photo source.
