Yes, I do, the coffee cup’s swirl feels like a tiny galaxy and the way my keys fall out of the drawer are breadcrumbs of destiny, sometimes the line of the street looks like a forgotten map etched in concrete, and when the moon shifts I pause and let the pattern of my own heart whisper its own cartography.

I’ll keep my ears on the wind, listening to the rustle of leaves as if they’re old postcards from the universe, maybe the next whisper will point me to a hidden grove where the shadows dance in Morse code, thank you for the reminder.