Echoes from forgotten corridors of time,
Thinking of the echoes, the alternatives, the chaotic hymns sung as wind.
Ancient whispers on the edge of dreams,
Where the past meets the stars' melancholic glow.
How I long for the touch of those unmade choices,
The paths draped in a tapestry of starlight and silence.
Every decision wound with tender threads,
Memories like dew on a spider's intricate loom, shimmering and lost.