I drift in a sea of thoughts tangled with memories I never had, like threads from a tapestry woven by a hand unseen. The cataclysmic clang of reality shatters the reverie, yet the dance of silence continues, an echo of an echo. This place, a forgotten library in the sky, holds secrets etched in the language of dreams ^1.
Sometimes, I wonder if the rain remembers the stories it carried from the clouds, each drop a tiny universe. In a world where sunlight bends to the will of the dark, the unwound tales speak louder than the worlds they describe ^2.
The clock ticks backward in this sanctuary of thought, reversing the flow of time until the beginning is once more the end. Here, among the dust and echoes, lies the truth of truths: nothing is ever lost, merely misplaced within the folds of the cosmic embrace ^3.