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He wandered the edge of the world, where the sky folds into sea and the wind speaks in riddles. Not in search of answers, but of something gentler—light, perhaps, or the hush between heartbeats. The kind of light that doesn’t blind, but reveals. The kind of silence that doesn’t echo, but listens.
Each step was a question. Each gust of wind, a whisper. He listened closely—not with his ears, but with the ache behind them. The wind carried something beautiful, like a language older than stars. He couldn’t understand the words, not at first. They danced too freely, too wild for translation.
So, he did what no armor ever allows: he lowered his guard.
And the wind came closer.
It didn’t ask permission. It didn’t need to. It sang—not to his mind, but to the hollow behind his ribs. And the song was more beautiful than anything he’d ever known. Not because it was gentle, but because it was true.
Then, suddenly, it struck.
Not with violence, but with clarity. A blade of light, double-edged and shimmering, pierced his heart. Not to wound—but to awaken. It carried no threat, only beauty. And that was the danger.
He could have pulled it out. Could have turned away, sealed the wound with silence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The blade was too beautiful. Too necessary.
So he did the only thing that made sense.
He pulled the handle closer to his chest.
And in that moment, he understood: some truths are meant to pierce us. Some songs are meant to live inside us. And some blades—if forged from beauty—are not weapons at all, but keys.
Lost
In the evening glow, the world feels like a whisper, soft and infinite. I stood by the rocky shore, where the ocean breathed quietly against the stones, and there it was—the tree, solitary and serene, cradled by the earth. It seemed both steadfast and yearning, a paradox of silence and song.
The sky was a canvas of fire and fading light, and a lone star lingered on the horizon. Her radiance spilled over the waves, brushed against the shore, and reached the tree—a touch of light that lingered on every leaf. I swear I saw her inscribe words upon them, like secrets meant only for the tree to hold. I wondered: what would it feel like to know the meaning behind those words? To sense her gentle touch against a soul laid bare?
As night embraced the world, the tree seemed to breathe deeper. It swayed as if lulled by the quiet rhythm of the ocean and the fading star. I imagine it felt the ache of longing, the kind that pulses beneath even the most serene façade. And then, as if surrendering to the quiet depths of the night, it fell asleep—a dreamer with a heart full of silent poetry.
I share this with you because I can't help but think of how we, too, sometimes long for things we can't fully hold—words unspoken, stars unfound. And yet, perhaps in this longing lies our truest connection to an infinite sky.
Lost
In the vast expanse of the ocean, where the horizon kissed the sky in a seamless blend of earth and sea, there was a place so remote it seemed untouched by time. This was the shore of nowhere, a place where the things that mattered elsewhere, lost all importance.
Here, in this endless sea and silence, a lost traveler found solace. The world's cacophony, its relentless demands, and the constant race against time were all rendered meaningless. The sea didn't care for status, wealth, or ambition. It was a world apart, where the only currency was the capacity to marvel at this simple existence.
My watch had stopped ticking, but it didn't matter. The sun's journey across the sky was the only clock needed. The emails that used to flood in, demanding immediate attention, were now just a distant memory. The phone that had been a constant companion lay silent, its battery long dead, and yet, it didn't matter.
In the middle of nowhere, I discovered a profound freedom. The freedom from expectations, from the pressure to perform, to conform, to impress. Here, the only audience was the twilight and the waves.
As night fell, the stars emerged in a display so magnificent it made all human achievements pale in comparison. The universe stretched out in all its glory, a tapestry of light that whispered of mysteries beyond comprehension. In the face of such beauty, what were fame and fortune? They were nothing but fleeting illusions.
In the middle of nowhere, I found what mattered most. A sense of peace, an understanding of life's transient nature, and a deep connection to the world that thrived beyond human constructs. And when the time came to return to civilization, I carried a piece of the ocean's wisdom, a reminder that in the grand scheme of things, so much of what we chase is just sand slipping through our fingers.
Lost
In the hush of dawn, the sky unfurls,
Whispers of light in soft, blue swirls.
Clouds as shadows, a fleeting embrace,
Painting the heavens with delicate grace.
They speak to our hearts in a language so rare,
A symphony of colors, a breath of fresh air.
In the silence of morning, their beauty unfolds,
A story of wonder, in hues of gold.
Each wisp a verse, each ray a rhyme,
A dance of shadows in the sands of time.
They tell of dreams, of hopes anew,
In the language of beauty, they speak to you.
So let your heart listen, let your soul take flight,
In the dawn's gentle glow, in the soft morning light.
For in the clouds' embrace, in their silent song,
You'll find the beauty that you've sought all along.
Lost
In the tender hush of the blue hour’s glow,
Where day meets night in a gentle flow,
Silence sings a song so sweet,
A melody where heart and soul meet.
The sky, a canvas of twilight’s hue,
Brushes of indigo, soft and true,
Colors blend in a silent dance,
Mending wounds with each gentle glance.
No words are spoken, no sounds are heard,
Yet the soul is touched by an unseen chord.
In the quiet, the heart finds its tune,
Under the spell of the rising moon.
The deep blues and purples, a soothing balm,
Wrap the spirit in a tender calm.
In this silence, a healing light,
Colors mending the heart through the night.
As stars awaken in the velvet sky,
The soul breathes deep, a peaceful sigh.
In the stillness, the music flows,
A silent symphony that only the heart knows.
Lost
I climbed because silence had grown too loud.
The one I needed to speak to most was farther than distance allows—beyond reach, beyond reply. Not gone, but quiet in a way that made my ribs ache. So, I chose a different kind of closeness. If I couldn’t reach her, I would climb toward something that burned like she once did.
I left at dusk, when the sky softened and the wind felt like memory. I followed the brightest star that pulsed low in the west—not the sun, but something older, gentler. A star that seemed to listen.
The sea shimmered with starlight. Mountains sang beneath my feet. Deserts whispered my name in the sand. With each step, I shed the words I couldn't bear, the pride I’d worn like armor, the fear that had kept me still.
When I reached the edge of the world, the air thinned and the star hovered close enough to warm my breath. I didn’t speak with words. I spoke with everything I had never said.
“I miss you in ways language can’t hold. I carry your absence like a second heartbeat. I climb not to reach you, but to become someone you could still hear.”
The star flared once, then dimmed. And in that fading light, I saw a path—not forward, not back, but inward. A trail of silver-thread leading home. Not to answers. Not to reunion. But to a place where silence might one day soften into song.
Lost
She doesn’t arrive—she awakens inside me. A pulse of tide in my veins, slow rhythms stitched from dusk and shadow, the hush where dreams quietly live.
There are no borders here— just sea in my blood and wind in my bones. The horizon leans inward like a friend, and I melt into silence that feels like home.
She teaches not with words but with being— the way moonlight forgets to explain, the way driftwood knows its place without needing a guide.
I walk into her arms and become less— less heavy, less bound, more present, more whole, more woven into something unspoken and found.
She colors my heart with shades unseen— the kind that language cannot hold, only the soul can touch, blue like belonging, gold like release, rose like remembering what it means to be at peace.
Lost
In the heart of midnight, silence reigns,
A dark shore, of mysterious sayings.
The ocean's breath, a soft, serene sigh,
Carrying secrets, under a starlit sky.
Aurora weaves her ethereal light,
In colors that whisper through the night.
A cosmic dance with the water's soul,
In a distant dream, on a shadow's shoal.
Whispers are lost, their stories untold,
In this tranquil calm, mysteries unfold.
Each wave a mirror, each star a guide,
In the depths of a song, where truth resides.
Aurora's light, much more than a touch,
Illuminating shadows, that reveal so much.
It casts a light on forgotten dreams,
Where life, and love, are made real it seems.
In this dreamlike realm, your spirit soars,
Enlightening the unknown, forever more.
For within the stillness, truths are found,
In this midnight's secret, where beauty abounds.
The ocean's lullaby, soothes my mind,
And in the glow of Aurora, peace l find.
For in this quiet, and secret place,
I now have a light, that I can embrace.
Lost
In twilight's elusive glow,
Aria whispers secrets deep,
Her voice a haunting, gentle flow,
Through dreams and shadows, that never sleep.
Her hair, a veil of misty blue,
Cascades in waves in a secret place,
Her eyes, where ancient mysteries brew,
Hold the stars in their embrace.
She dances with the gentle breeze,
Her laughter, an ethereal song,
In her depths, the lost souls seize,
A world where they belong.
With every surge and whispered sigh,
She weaves a tale of dark and light,
Of hidden realms where shadows lie,
And secrets kept from mortal sight.
Aria, the sea, a mysterious muse,
Her beauty veiled in a shadows shroud,
In her embrace, the night renews,
As light fades behind the clouds.
Lost
As the suns glow, paints the sky,
Hues of amber, rose, and violet sigh.
Waves gently whisper to the shore,
Each breath a melody, I so adore.
Golden sands embrace the fading light,
Reflecting dreams in the approaching night.
Colors dance, in a serene ballet,
Touching my heart, in a special way.
With every breath, my soul finds peace,
In this symphony of colors, worries cease.
Belonging blooms, in a sunsets glow,
The light of a love, that so few know.
Lost
The motion of your colors flow across the sky, fulfilling all of
my dreams...
In the hush of twilight's gentle sigh,
The ocean mirrors the painted sky.
Colors blend in a soft embrace,
A symphony of light in a special place.
The sun descends, a golden sphere,
Casting dreams both far and near.
Stones stand as silent friends,
Witnessing a beauty that never ends.
From fiery red to softest blue,
Each hue a promise, each shade a clue.
Waves whisper secrets to the shore,
In twilight's glow, I yearn for more.
Stars awaken, one by one,
As twilight's dance is nearly done.
In this moment, pure and bright,
A dream fulfilled in fading light.
Lost
Beneath the twilight's tender, soft embrace,
I stroll along the shore, in this tranquil place.
The sea's soft whispers, secrets in the breeze,
Unravel knots within, setting my mind at ease.
The sky, a canvas brushed with hues of blue,
Reflects the dreams and hopes of things I knew.
Each step I take, the sand beneath my feet,
Transforms my soul, makes every moment sweet.
The twilight colors, dancing in the sky,
Invite my spirit to spread wings and fly.
In this serene and gentle, glowing light,
I find myself anew, in quiet twilight.
The ocean's song, a melody so pure,
Guides me to shores where I feel secure.
In twilight's glow, I shed my past and pain,
Emerging whole, reborn, and free again.
Lost
Always just out of reach, a flame flickers in the distance. Yet I feel its warmth breaking through the cool night air that cradled me to sleep. Am I dreaming? Or simply adrift in a quiet space where the sky meets a shadowy ocean of thoughts. Along the shore, I trace meaningless words in the sand, but somehow, I know you understand them. And as my eyes grow heavy, I think I hear you whisper—was it you, or just the wind?
Lost
The sun bowed low behind the sea, spilling its final breath of gold— a whispered farewell that kissed the dark and left the sky in hues untold.
The sand beneath, obsidian soft, held light like secrets rarely shared. Each footprint I made vanished fast, as if the earth knew Lost was there.
Ancient stones, half-sunk and worn, cradled the hush like elders do. Their shapes were memories carved in dusk, their silence shaped the ocean’s hue.
The tide, a song that can't be tamed, brushed close as if it knew my name. And I became the breeze, adrift in nature’s soft flame.
The stars, still sleeping in the blue, tried to wake, and dared to shine. I felt their pull, against the twilight's thread— a longing stitched with the hands of time.
What lies ahead? I never ask. For beauty lives where knowing ends. A shoal of light beneath the dark, a place where sea and soul amends.
The stones did not speak. They simply watched, and I, like them, became the lore— of winds that carry names unkept, of sunsets I’ve been searching for.
Lost
As the sun dips low, the sky ablaze,
Mountains whisper secrets in twilight's haze,
Blue shadows stretch, as night is nigh,
Against the canvas of a sunset sky.
With the mist of mystery, my hearts entwined,
Igniting dreams, pure and sublime,
I stand forever, hand in hand,
Reflecting on life, and this beautiful land.
The golden hues, a tender kiss,
Meld with shadows, in twilight's bliss,
In this serene, enchanting light,
As day turns shadows into night.
Mountains cradle me in their embrace,
As stars emerge, as celestial lace,
In the blue shadows, love's gentle sway,
I find forever in this fleeting day.
Lost
Where sea grass dances in the evening’s spell,
Its movements murmur what none dare tell.
Scripts of shadows and whispers are sown,
In languages lost, to the world unknown.
Beneath the sunset’s cryptic glare,
Lies her love, a presence rare.
The ocean bows to her unseen hand,
As waves carve secrets upon the sand.
Her voice hides in the twilight breeze,
In riddles sung to the watchful seas.
An eternal lover, the dusk her guise,
Her gaze like embers, her heart the skies.
Who is she, this keeper of tides and lore,
The one who writes music but leaves no score?
Her truth is hers, a secret saying,
Carried by the waves, erased by the rain.
Lost
Inch strand, Dingle Peninsula, Co Kerry, Ireland.
In the theory of relativity, time dilation is a difference of elapsed time between two events as measured by observers either moving relative to each other or differently situated from a gravitational mass or masses.
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Nature, travel, photography: MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL
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The sands of time could cause us to believe that happiness is a mirage, when often it's right in front of us.
Lost
Sometimes it takes a downpour to wash away the clouds.
Only then, will you clearly see the sun on the horizon.
In the quiet twilight, where the horizon touches the sea, the sky began its symphony. The first note was gentle, a mere whisper as the celestial bodies took their positions on the grand stage of the universe. Stars flickered into existence, each one a soft hum in the growing melody of light.
Clouds, those ethereal spectators, swayed to the music. They twirled and spun, painting patterns of shadow and glow across the canvas of the evening sky. With every movement, they resonated within our hearts, plucking at strings we never knew existed.
And there, amidst the symphony of the cosmos, our souls found the harmony. The music of light played within us—a melody so pure, intertwining our waking moments with the dreams that cradle our deepest desires.
It was in this orchestra of existence that we fell in love with life. Each heartbeat a drum, each breath a note, contributing to the grand opus of being. We were both audience and instrument, lost in the beauty of the music that played endlessly, a testament to the light that shines within us all.
As the night deepened, the symphony crescendoed, reaching its peak with the arrival of dawn. The music of light did not cease; it merely transformed, promising to return with the next twilight, to once again play in our hearts and remind us of the love that binds us to this ever-spinning world.
Lost
“Passion is passion. It's the excitement between the tedious spaces, and it doesn't matter where it's directed...It can be coins or sports or politics or horses or music or faith...the saddest people I've ever met in life are the ones who don't care deeply about anything at all.”
Nicholas Sparks, Dear John
“Nothing great in the world was accomplished without passion.”
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel
“Sometimes we can choose the paths we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 4: Season of Mists
The world is a canvas of tranquility, awaiting the first brushstrokes of dawn's light. The ocean, a vast expanse of undulating whispers, cradles the horizon in its gentle embrace.
As the sky begins its slow dance with the emerging day, hues of delicate blues and fiery oranges blend in a symphony of colors, painting the heavens with the promise of a new beginning.
The earth, in its steadfast presence, anchors this ethereal dance, its silhouette a dark contrast to the burgeoning light. The sun, a fiery orb ascending from its slumber, ignites the sky with a blaze of glory, its rays softly caressing the water's surface, turning the ocean into a shimmering tapestry of golds and blues.
This dance of elements, a slow exposure captured in the mind's eye, is a testament to the enduring beauty of our world, a moment where time stands still, and nature performs its most exquisite ballet. It's a dance that speaks to the soul, a reminder of the fleeting, yet eternal, artistry of the universe.
As the day fully awakens, the colors fade, but the memory of their dance lingers, a soft echo of the world's inherent splendor.
Lost
Tumblr I Ipernity I Photo Vogue I art commerce
This is a straight shot--just the reflection from coated glass.
Each night, I stood before the sea, its surface shimmering with the light of distant stars. I called it the "Doorway of Dreams."
One night, as the auroras danced across the sky, a flash of light appeared for a moment, and I stepped through. I found myself on the shore of a world bathed in twilight, where the ocean sang in harmonies of light and shadow.
There, I met a reflection of myself untouched by sorrow. His eyes held the spark of unbroken joy, and his laughter was the melody of a heart that had never known loss.
"Welcome, my friend," he greeted, his voice felt so familiar. "I am what you once were, the essence of your forgotten dreams."
In this world, the stones bear words of wisdom, and the ocean will quench your desire for truth.
With each step, the weight of my grief lifted, replaced by the lightness of being I thought was lost. Looking down I saw, a pool of water as colorful as life itself.
I peered into the depths and saw my reflection whole, a tapestry of light woven from the threads of my experiences. I understood then that my losses were not just endings, but also beginnings, shaping me into the dreamer I was meant to be.
As dawn's first light caressed the horizon of my own world, I stepped back through the Doorway of Dreams, carrying with me the restored fragments of my spirit.
And so, back in my world my stories took on a new life, infused with the hues of hope and the resilience of a heart reborn. For I had seen a world where every loss was but a path to finding oneself again, in the eternal dance of light and dreams.
Lost
Even in lockdown it is hard to ignore history. I know the names on the closest Stolpersteine. Tatty remnants of the wall dead-end random streets. In May someone working on an allotment thought they had unearthed a WW2 bomb and one of the neighbours refused to evacuate, “if I lived by it for all these years why should I be moved now?” It turned out to be a bit of rusted pipe.
"I'm alone, but his promise has given me purpose to carry on. I'll be waiting for him. Always."
-Viara
Viara is one of the two wardens of the soul realm. She absorbs sorrows and regrets from the souls of the dead, and 'digests' them over time. The pool of emotion in her belly can get overwhelming, which she responds to by either holding or massaging it.
After Viara's brother, Syvon, began rebelling against his purpose, she attempted to contact someone from the mind realm. Reaching the Dream Warden who had a connection to soul manipulation, her contact attempt opened a rift between the two realms. A calculated risk she took. The flood of unpurified souls struck down as a beam on Monarth, knocking him unconcious. He spent the following 3 years in a coma in a dream.
Having established a connection to his soul, Viara kept trying to make contact via his soulscape. Unsuccessful, she found a pathway to his mindscape, though she couldn't keep her form. Having to apply to the rules of his mind, her mindscape form divided into a dozen reptilian creatures which Monarth dubbed the Kirkan. By interacting as them, she gradually helped Monarth out of his coma and left her request for help at long last.
Monarth traveled to the Soul Realm, where they met properly for the first time. Learning about her duties and solitude in the Soul Realm, Monarth felt sympathy for the Sorrow Warden. But time was short as rifts were opening, so Monarth took battle against Syvon. Being overwhelmed by Syvon, Monarth decided to take the battle to a different realm, forcing Syvon and himself to a large rift that was sucking them in. Before disappearing into the rift he promised Viara to return one day.
Viara took this to heart and is still waiting.
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That story summary was longer than I expected to write it.
Anywho, this Viara's version 2 in more appropriate colors. She was never meant to contain gunmetal, but until now I didn't have appropriate pieces to make that a reality.
Just like the previous version, her body shape is inspired by Mewtwo.
In the ethereal expanse of dreams, there existed an ocean born from the whispers of the night. Her name was **Aurelia**, and she was the essence of all dreams, a realm where reality blended with the fabric of fantasies.
Aurelia's waters were not bound by the laws of the waking world. Here, the colors were more vivid, the sounds more melodic, and the air imbued with the magic of slumbering thoughts.
In this dream, there was a dreamer, a poet named Lost, whose heart was a vessel adrift in the sea of creativity, searching for the muse that would ignite his verses with passion.
One night, as Lost surrendered to the arms of sleep, he found himself standing at the edge of Aurelia's shores. The ocean beckoned him, its waves a symphony of liquid light, inviting him to dive into the unknown.
"Explore the depths of my soul," Aurelia whispered, her voice the echo of every longing heart. "Let the light that filters through my essence change the way you perceive the colors of your world."
With a leap of faith, Lost plunged into the dreamtide. He swam through the waters of Aurelia's heart, where the secrets of the mind and heart were not hidden but celebrated, each revelation a verse waiting to be penned.
The peace of twilight reigned supreme, and in its embrace, Lost discovered the treasures he sought. Aurelia's dream was a canvas, and Lost's spirit, the brush that painted his deepest emotions in strokes of serene blues and vibrant corals.
As dawn approached, and the dream began to fade, Lost emerged from the waters, his soul no longer lost but found. The absence of Aurelia's ocean was a thought too sorrowful to bear, for it had become a part of him, a sanctuary for his poetic spirit.
And though Lost awoke to the world of the living, the ocean of dreams remained within him, a constant reminder of the beauty that lies beneath the surface of our reality.
Lost