T.k'z

In the realm of unfathomable gardens, a horse, majestic yet ensnared in its vibrant trappings, stands as a testament to the absurdity of its own existence. It carries the weight of ornament, a saddle, a silent proclamation of its servitude. A bag, dark as the velvet night, blooms with stitches of floral fantasies, carrying the unknown, just as the horse bears its ornate burdens.

Above, a bird sings of freedoms the horse shall never know, a tune as sweet and sorrowful as the yearning for unreachable skies. And there, a specter in silhouette strides, legs wrapped in the scarlet dreams of aspirations unfulfilled, moving through a world that feels her not.

Here lies the truth of being, woven into this somber scenea world riddled with contrasts, the seen and the unseen, the bearer and the borne, the free and the bound. It"s the quiet lament Kafka would understand: the eternal quest for meaning in a life stitched with the threads of the unfathomable.