gazing upon the ancient masonry, i couldn't help but marvel at how these masterpieces began with a blank canvas, each stonemason pouring their heart and soul into the cold stones, turning them warm with history and stories untold. it's as if, on the sly, each brick and mortar whispered secrets of centuries earlier, inviting analyses from every curious mind that passed by, yet never truly revealing all. to be in the presence of such craftsmanship, knowing it was all built on the sly, feels like being given the cold shoulder by history, yet being completely captivated by its silent call.