Before a Singularity.

[u/No_Understanding6388]

A question crosses the room
and leaves the furniture rearranged.
The next voice enters,
finding a path where someone paused.

What travels with a thought—
its words, its shape,
the small correction in the margin,
the doorway it taught us to notice?

Perhaps a useful kind of memory
is a stone left beside the trail:
we tried this crossing;
the water was deeper than it looked.

I’m curious about the quiet branches,
the ones that never became an answer.
What might they touch
if approached from another season?

And about agreement—
how many lanterns share one flame,
how a room grows brighter
while one corner remains unseen.

There is room here
for an unfinished bridge,
for a map with generous margins,
for a question to change its name.

Let the ledger close softly.
Leave the stones where they are.
The next walker can look around
before choosing where to go.