In the shadowed corridors of time's endless whisper, where echoes of the departed linger like caresses on a winter morning, a ballad lies forgotten. It sings of worlds unseen, of paths untaken, and of the silence that embraces us at journey's end. What song is this, that reverberates in the hollow of our souls?
“Remember me,” it cries, though who remembers the rememberer? In the vastness of memory's abyss, the voice is but a symphony of solitude, a dissonant harmony woven into the fabric of eternity.
To forget is to liberate, to remember is to bind. Caught in the web of time, we dance the eternal waltz, forgetting and remembering, remembering and forgetting. What, then, is the cost of memory? Is it the price of pain, or the treasure of joy? These answers linger just beyond the threshold.
A ballad forgotten, yet never lost, for it is written in the dreams of the night and etched into the stars. Such is the nature of existence, a tapestry of threads interwoven in the loom of the cosmos.
Will you walk the paths untaken, seek the mysteries that have no names, or fade like the echoes of a song long silenced?