In the late afternoon hours, tucked under a blanket of pastel-hued light, the world beyond the rim falls into a beautiful slumber. It doesn’t stir at anything, not at the croak of a raven, not at the tumble of a rock, not at the whip of a gust. It lies still like a canvas, a canvas that reminds you of faraway things you cannot ever reach, dreams you cannot ever realize, versions of yourself you cannot ever live.