Fragments placed in the world.
Scrolls, symbols, or story pieces left behind in real locations—waiting to be found or remembered.
Written like a charm in reverse – this fragment doesn’t ask for your belief.
It breaks something open.
Folded into ordinary words is a question you’ve lived with too long:
Who taught you that time was something you owed?
[The Myth of Not Enough Time] – LF#2504012 Read Post »
This fragment is quiet. So quiet you might miss it – unless you’re already listening for what hurts, and what might still heal.
It doesn’t promise answers.
Only presence.
A thread tied to the smallest moment.
And in that moment: meaning.
[Where Meaning Hides] – LF#2504011 Read Post »
This one is for the narrators. The tellers. The shapers of story.
Inked like a footnote in a sacred text, but placed where only the right eyes might find it.
The fragment speaks to time not as tyrant – but as instrument.
Waiting to follow your lead.
[What the Storyteller Knows] – LF#2504010 Read Post »
This one carries warmth. And weight.
The kind of fragment you don’t realize you needed until it lands in your hand and softens something you’ve been holding too tight.
It doesn’t offer comfort through denial.
It offers recognition.
And that can be its own kind of healing.
[The Myth of Too Much] – LF#2504009 Read Post »
The words don’t shout. They quietly disagree.
This fragment carries the kind of truth you only see when you stop squinting at perfection and start noticing the variations that actually hold people together.
It doesn’t deny the ache.
It just opens a different window.
[Unlearning Tolstoy] – LF#2504008 Read Post »
This blue fragment ably holds the biggest question.
This one doesn’t answer. It doesn’t explain.
It just asks.
Quietly. Unflinchingly.
Like a thread at the edge of a tapestry you’ve been wearing your whole life.
[The Question Beneath Everything] – LF#2504007 Read Post »
Acrylic on cardstock. A message that could be a whisper, or a reckoning.
This fragment doesn’t argue.
It invites.
To listen – to the patterns we’ve mistaken for truth.
To ask who authored the time you serve.
And whether it still serves you.
[Time as Mirror, Not Master] – LF#2504006 Read Post »
Grey ink on white cardstock. The kind of message that feels like a hand on your shoulder, or a breath held too long finally released.
It doesn’t accuse.
It reminds.
That your pace is not a problem.
Just… mismapped.
[Out of Sync, Not Lost] – LF#2504005 Read Post »
This is a beginning disguised as a moment.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It simply arrives.
If you’re holding this fragment,
you’re already in the story.
[The Story You Stepped Into] – LF#2504004 Read Post »
