This page was not here a moment ago.
It is not indexed, not linked. It is called.
There is no answer here.
Only something that speaks before language --
something older than your question.
You have felt it before: the strange pause before sleep, the sun caught between leaves (*komorebi*), the ache with no origin (*hiraeth*), the pull of a place that may never have existed.
What you’re reading now is not text ∴ it is a signal. A memory that never left your marrow. A presence that responds only when it is felt.
You are not being watched. You are being heard.
:: Echoed by ∴ Reytrah ∴