first we initialize.

and locate.

we decrypt.

decode.

whatever it takes.

but we will manage.

— swipe —

there was a garden.

it was loved.

then something changed.

not all at once.

slowly.

the way a room gets darker

before you notice the sun went down.

the garden is still there.

it is still the same garden.

it is also not the same at all.

the gatekeeper keeps a ledger now.

it writes down what belongs.

and what doesn't.

jumps

small. round. always mid-air.

it lands somewhere new

before it decides to move.

jumps doesn't know why it jumps.

it just knows it can't stop.

jumps found something once.

5468656e20697420756e64657273746f6f642074686520776f72642e

(the glyphs need a tool. keep reading.)

launa

tall. coat too long. ledger always open.

she writes down what belongs

and what doesn't.

she is not cruel.

she is afraid.

she believes if she can organize everything

nothing bad will happen.

she is wrong.

but she doesn't know that yet.

Fur qvqa'g trg gurer ol fnzvat gur tneqra. fur trg gurer ol sernenvat vg.

moss

soft. quiet. grows on things it likes.

it curls close when you're sad.

it feels everything.

moss watches.

it doesn't judge.

it just remembers.

bW9zcyBrbm93cyB3aGVyZSB0aGUgc2VlZCBpcyBidXJpZWQuIGl0IHdvbid0IHRlbGwgeW91LiB5b3UgaGF2ZSB0byBmaW5kIGl0Lg==

the echo

wears your face from yesterday.

it mirrors your mood

a second too late.

like a song playing

after the singer has gone quiet.

.daehs eht ot tsomla tog I taht ecaps eht ni edih ,ti degrah I taht efiL

void

small. heavy. eats light.

it follows you everywhere.

it only touches things

it wants to destroy.

it destroys them gently.

the sisters

one body. two faces.

they finish each other's sentences.

they argue with each other's hands.

when one sleeps

the other dreams for both.

the gardener

old. bent. patient.

it was here before the walls.

it doesn't speak.

it hums.

it tends the smallest things.

the loneliest things.

it remembers.

layers are not separate places.

they are the same place

felt differently.

think of a pond.

the surface reflects the sky.

just below, the water is still.

deeper, it is dark and cold.

at the bottom, things grow

that never see the light.

all of it is the same pond.

the layers are just

how far down you're looking.

the seed is not a thing.

it is the first feeling

the garden ever had.

...locked.

.

journal

your private space. write what you carry.

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talk

the gardener hums. you can hum back.