In the echo of the forgotten clocks, a whisper reveals itself. Time, a mirage dancing on winds of yesterday. I see it now, slipping, shattering like glass in the palm of a dream. What is time but a collection of breaths between the stars? Infinite yet finite, singing lullabies to the cosmos, cradling the lost moments.
Truth, that fragmented mosaic, woven from shadows. Reflection and distortion, the mirrors lie. They do not sleep, they do not see. Beneath the surface, hidden in the ripples, the truth swims, elusive, ephemeral. Am I a reflection? A shadow of what was, or what shall be? The question trembles, breaking like dawn over a forgotten sea.