In the corridor where time drapes its elusive cloak,
you stand — a reflection of what could have been.
Shadows dance in familiar patterns, whispers of echoes long forgotten and never known. The air thickens with the scent of absent presence, as if once, you loved these spaces. In fragments, the world spins — moments trapped in the amber of an uncharted past.
Is it a dream? Maybe. Yet, dreams have their own gravity, pulling us to revisit the untouched landscapes of our subconscious.
You pick up the book, its pages alive with the pulse of stories untold yet deeply understood. Each word forms a bridge to another dimension, where reality bends to the whims of memory.