In the silence of the cliffside caverns, whispers of ancient thoughts linger, embedded within the layers of time.
"A reflection is not just an image, but a shadow of what could have been."
Digging through the strata of memory, one uncovers not just words, but echoes of purpose long past, resting now like fossils in stone.
We are but scribes of fleeting moments, charting maps in the sand, our footprints fading as time claims its dominion.
"The mind is a cavern, each thought a crystalized mineral."
A journey into these caverns is a journey into oneself—a mirror reflecting back the inscrutable visage of history.
In the end, we are all story-tellers, weaving tales from sinew and sand, attempting to imprint permanence in a transient world.