What if the sky were, in reality, The cartography of all our different existences? Cracks in the glass case, crystalline, as unique as a snowflake. Pure. Immaculate.
A man once said to me: All those people you cross paths with, all those souls… What if all these variations were, in reality, the distortion of a single entity?
And what if all those beings Were, in reality, just another part of me?