Within the folds of silence, lies an echo of untold tales. Each stitch in time, a fragment lost, wandering through the corridors of memory. Do whispers linger where footsteps have faded?
"In every shadow cast by the sun, a story lies, waiting for the wind to carry it forth."
Glimmers of the past can be seen in the reflections of a quiet pond. Ripples distort the image, an anomaly in clarity. Are the whispers echoes of our fears or dreams untamed?
"Time is a canvas, painted over and over, until the truth is buried beneath layers of lies."