As I think and tinker away,
I leave a trail of quiet lines behind—
soft echoes of the moments
my mind wandered farther than my hands.
Each thought becomes a footprint,
each idea a small lantern dropped
for whoever might follow
the winding path I made.
And though the work is never finished,
the trail is proof I was here—
thinking, tinkering,
shaping something out of the unseen.
M.A.D. Works 