Threshold
They always said the gate was forbidden. Not because it was dangerous, but because we couldn’t understand what lay beyond.
He wasn’t truly an astronaut. Not the kind trained for missions. He was a seeker. Someone tired of staring at the stars from below and finally chose to walk into them.
That day, the sun set three times. No one noticed how shadows started to crawl, or when the triangle appeared, glowing, red, perfect, as if geometry itself had something to say.
He stood before it. Behind him: cracked ground, dry with ancient beliefs. Before him: a blazing unknown, trembling with possibility.
He stepped forward. Not out of bravery, but out of hunger. The kind of hunger you get from almost remembering something important. Like a forgotten word at the edge of the tongue of the soul.
"Threshold" is not a place. It’s a moment. The one where returning is no longer possible, not because you can’t go back, but because the person you were doesn’t exist anymore.
What did he find on the other side? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps just another dream nested inside this one. Or perhaps the truth, unbearable and unexplainable.
What he discovered wasn’t light or darkness, but the razor-thin edge between knowing and understanding.
And now, everyone who sees his image wonders: "Am I also standing at the threshold? Or am I still walking inside someone else’s story?"
