Soul High: Weed, Stone, and the River’s Flow
Sometimes, after a deep drag of that sweet smoke, the world shifts—subtle at first, like a whisper at the back of your mind. Then, suddenly, everything warps. You’re still here, sitting on the same ground, surrounded by the same world, but it’s like you’ve been handed a key to a parallel universe. Reality itself starts bending, peeling back the surface layers, revealing the rawness underneath. It’s as if you’re seeing everything for the first time, but with eyes that have been opened wide—too wide—by the touch of something otherworldly. I’m sitting by the river, stones scattered all around me, just another forgotten patch of earth, but right now, it’s more than that. Right now, it feels like the center of the universe. The stones under my feet aren’t just stones anymore—they’re relics, ancient pieces of something far greater than I could ever grasp. I pick one up and roll it between my fingers. It feels cool, solid, yet heavy with untold stories, as if it carries the memory of the eart...