A brass compass lies forgotten on a weathered map. Its needle no longer points true, wavering between lost directions. The once sharp engravings on its surface have softened with time. The glass is cracked, but it still holds the promise of guiding the way. Around it, the map is torn and yellowed, edges curling with age. The places it once marked are now distant memories, lost to the passing years. The compass is still, yet in its stillness, it carries the weight of journeys untaken. A relic of paths that never were, waiting to be remembered.
this art is AI generated.
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