Mar 16
I dreamt of a world with no friction—an infinite expanse of quilted earth where the ground was a singular, endless mattress. In this Topography of Comfort, the architecture was made of folded clouds and blanket castles, a silent rebellion against the hardness of reality.
Psychology calls it the Uterine Echo—a subconscious return to absolute safety. It wasn't just a place to sleep; it was a world that had finally promised to catch us. No more concrete, no more falling. Just the eternal, pillowy embrace of a restless mind finding its peace.
