"In the silence of night, my dreams unfold like petals of a midnight flower, each whisper a thread pulled from the fabric of sleep."
The shadow of a thought, drifting, caught in the web of reverie. Was it a question, a declaration, or simply an echo of something long forgotten?
"I wander through the corridors of my mind, tracing the outlines of memories yet to be made, where every step is a soft murmur in the dark."
The walls listen, they always do, holding onto secrets that slip through fingers like grains of sand.
"Am I the dreamer, or merely a wisp of smoke in the dreams of others? A thought adrift in the cosmos, seeking a home among the stars."