Some threads do
not move in straight lines.
They slide through the seams of time—
Passing through the not-yet, the forgotten,
and the unseen moments that still echo.
The Weaver is
never in haste,
For she knows every stitch is a healing of time.
The torn present, the skipped childhood,
the lost soul fragments—
can all be retrieved by a thread soft but unwavering,
reaching across dimensions.
Sometimes a
frequency must travel lifetimes
before it finds its harmonic match.
And in that moment of resonance, time self-mends—
as if destiny hums a note beyond language.
And you,
have you ever felt those déjà vu flashes?
Those silent recognitions your soul knows,
though your mind cannot explain?
That is you—
meeting yourself, across the seam between time.
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