PASSAGE

I drift.

Through water, through air, through something in between. There is no shore, no beginning or end. Just an endless expanse of lotus leaves, shifting under my hands as I pass. The world hums in silence. The air shimmers, not fireflies, something older. Watching, guiding.

I don't know where I'm going, only that I must move forward.

The petals part, and I see it. A glow, high above. A lotus, hanging weightless in the sky, pulsing with quiet light. Beneath it, a keyhole carved into the nothingness. I pause. I reach out.

Where is the key?
Where does it lead?

There is no answer. Only stillness. Only the knowing that some doors must be found before they are understood.

In the hush of the void, a presence lingers. A figure wrapped in black and white, its gold tracing the shape of time. It watches without eyes, speaks without sound. The god of death. The keeper of moments. A gentle hand in the space between what was and what will be.

It does not rush me.
It only waits.
So I stand before the keyhole,
and I wait too.