In the labyrinth of the mind, where memories coalesce into constellations of forgotten years, a shrieking stirs. An echo of eons gone by, reverberating in the corridors lined with shadows and fading light. What does it mean to witness a life unlived, paths diverging in some intangible woods? The choice we made, or perhaps, the choice we avoided, speaks through whispers woven into the fabric of existence.
Once upon a time, in a place where time curls back upon itself, there was a song. A melancholic tune sung by specters of the dawn, haunting yet beautiful, resonating with the essence of every decision unmade. Nostalgia seeps through every note, a yearning for what could have been, as life marches on its inexorable path, indifferent and silent.
Are we mere echoes, shrieking in the void, tethered to memories of a life we could have known? The question lingers, a ghostly presence, etching itself into the annals of our consciousness. Perhaps we are, each of us, a collection of shriekings past, present, and potential future, resonating across the tapestry of the universe.