I open a book, and the words dissolve into light -
Pages turn to corridors, ink becomes air.
Somewhere beyond memory, the Library of Time awaits.
Its halls stretch across eternity, filled with whispers of the past and visions of what may be.
Here, the hourglass stands broken – its sands scattered through history.
To restore its rhythm, I must wander through time’s most luminous moments:
the birth of paper in ancient China, Leonardo’s studio bathed in Florentine gold,
Bach’s music sparkling in candlelight.
Each sketch I draw returns a grain of time to its glass –
until the Library breathes again,
and the dream folds gently closed.
