In the beginning, there were words, lost between the folds of crowded thoughts. Words that whispered stories of untold beauty. What did you see when you closed your eyes and let these words resonate?
"Do you remember?", she asked, her voice etched with a distant echo. The room plunged into silence. Outside, the wind carried the leaves—fifty shades of memories swirling around these walls.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, it painted the sky with words left unsaid, phrases hanging precariously like the last line of a sonnet. We stood and watched, each color lacquered with refracted thoughts.
Keep dreaming. This way takes you back to the beginnings. If you dare.
A letter, faded on one corner, read: "Somewhere between the ink and the paper, a universe exists. Words—do they know their power?" Every now and then, we find traces like this, reminders of pathways forged and forgotten.
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