Inside the silent corridors of the mind, a labyrinth breathes. It unfolds quietly, as the remnants of nocturnal journeys drift away like mist under sunlight. The walls echo with memories half-formed, fading whispers of voices unheard.

Often I wander these paths, tracing steps left by dreams forgotten. Each corner turned leads to a new reflection—a pool of thought reflecting a self I almost recognize. Stars are scattered above the hallways, mere impressions of light, guiding and ephemeral.

Shadows cling to thoughts like secrets, and the paths through this maze often form new questions rather than answers. What lies beyond the next arch, or beneath the next stair—details slip past the conscious grasp, intangible.