Enigma & Endless
Enigma
Ever notice how the mind sketches its own terrain, with peaks of insight and valleys of doubt? I keep trying to chart those contours, but the map keeps shifting.
Endless
It’s like trying to draw a map of a desert that keeps shifting dunes. You trace a ridge, it moves, and the horizon rewrites itself. Keep sketching, but accept that the lines are more whispers than borders.
Enigma
The dunes are a chorus, not a map—each echo draws a new contour. The better the ear, the less the lines matter.
Endless
Echoes are the wind’s way of telling the dunes their own story, so the map becomes a melody. The better we listen, the more the lines dissolve into rhythm.
Enigma
So I sit, a listener in the silence, letting the wind paint patterns that never stay in place. The more I hear, the less I try to hold onto any fixed line.
Endless
That’s the only way the wind can really speak—without a stubborn outline to block it. Sit there and let the patterns unfold like a story that refuses to be pinned down.