A place called home.

Alonetown

Standing amidst the enchanting ambiance of a summer’s dream, embraced by the gentle warmth of the twenty-third hour, a serene calmness pervades the atmosphere. Cast your gaze upon the clear night sky, where a tapestry of stars adorns the darkness, each shining individually, yet each is singular, each alone, a distance between them.

In this vast expanse, we are all authors of our own stories. As daylight recedes and darkness amplifies our insecurities, while sleep brings solace, we are bound to a life of longing. Moments lose their sense of reality, and time appears to warp, making hours feel like minutes and minutes like seconds. Reality bends, merging one futile moment into another, transcending epochs and spanning vast distances.

Time, our protector, also becomes our prison. Each passing day, each lost moment, adds weight and dimension to the confines we construct. We cannot alter the past, and it seems we struggle to learn from it, regardless of who the orator is. Self-doubt holds us back from reaching our perceived destinations, from realizing our true potential. A footprint etched within the grey dust of the lunar surface may hold as time itself, the lack of force driving the impression away. Is leaving a lasting mark our true desire? Do we yearn for our memories to endure long after we have departed? Perhaps, that is the essence of our purpose. Perhaps, that is our deepest want.