In the silent corridors of yesterday, whispers linger like shadows, tracing the outlines of forgotten dreams. Have you ever listened closely to the echoes that murmur through the chambers of your memory?
Time, a relentless tide, washes over our fragile castles of thought. Each wave erodes certainty, leaving behind a shore of questions carved into the sand by the fingers of eternity.
These murmurings, a symphony of unspoken words, weave themselves into the very fabric of our beings, an indelible imprint of what once was and what could have been. Are we not, then, ghosts of our own making, wandering through the ruins of choice and circumstance?
Listen carefully: the past speaks in hushed tones.
These echoes, my companions in solitude, offer solace yet demand recognition. They flicker like candlelight against the walls of reason, casting shadows that dance with the spirit of nostalgia.
To remember is to live again, if only for a moment. The heart knows no boundaries; it traverses the labyrinth of time, seeking the warmth of moments long extinguished but never forgotten.
Whispers | Reverberations | Shadows