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                                                 Dreams of a future self hastily
                                                 scrawled on fragments of
                                                 withered notepaper, tightly
                                                 sealed in corked bottles cast to
                                                 the sea—messages meant to
                                                 find me in my past.

                                                 Words are my passion, powered
                                                 with wings—an exposé of peculiar
                                                 sensitivity. I’m the astral riptide
                                                 that never wanes.

                                                             My inevitability is merely a
                                                             measure of intricate riddles
                                                             covertly disguised in a
                                                             quantum of cause and
                                                             consequence.

                                                                           I watch from years
                                                                           ahead, awaiting         
                                                                           my arrival.
          

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