Once, a leaf floated midway between dream and diurnal reality, pirouetting through the unfathomable corridor of time. There it heard the secrets of silence, a lullaby repeated by oceans, forgotten in the wake of stars biding their delicate extinction.
Thus, the moon converses nightly with tides, seeking the treasure hidden within the shells. The sand listens—an omniscient observer—knowing that time carries the weight of memory gently, as its grains slip through our grasp.
Ponder this: Can a butterfly truly recognize the marvel of its own wingscape or perceive the chaos its mere fluttering bestrides? And here we stand, sutured fragility binding our ambitions with hopes of flight.