In the labyrinth of dawn, where whispers of the past dance with the shadows of lost tomorrows, a lone traveler stumbles upon a mirror. The mirror reflects not her face, but a tapestry of weaving memories.
Have you ever walked a path so familiar it became foreign? The stones beneath your feet pulse with the rhythm of a heartbeat, echoing in the silence. Where does the journey end, if the beginning is the same as the middle?
Close your eyes and open your hands; the sands of time slip through like water. Each grain a story untold, an adventure paused between breaths.