In a world adorned with echoes, melodies played in reverse skimmed the surface of the forgotten. A tree, its bark a silver-spun tapestry, reflected whispers of dialogues never uttered. Moments danced like dusty motes in beams of erratic light.
At twilight, whispers of argument morphed into heartbeats as breaths closed above the still waters of the lake filled with unheard symphonies. Raindrops of sound fell softly, saturating the air with an electric weight, pulsing memories undone.
Here, a window peered into the abyss—a bleary-eyed witness to the fading songs and dreams wrapped in tattered sheets of music. They enumerated unattainable wishes: one, to hear the siding's sighs wear thin; two, for fate to reverse her course entirely.
With each tick of the clock that rang backwards, the notes escalated; they floated toward nowhere, folding into themselves, metamorphosing time-bound loose threads into stitched stories. A longing submerged beneath serenades rendered scarcely tangible, as daylight succumbed.
Count your forsaken iterations; fret not, for the sands of time whisper what might have been—a portal concealed in shadows. Strum your way to where echoes converge and where silence plays.