In the beginning was the whisper,
carried on winds untraveled,
like confetti in the storm,
falling through timeless dusk.
Do you remember? Or is it a dream?
Somewhere slumbers the echo of an echo,
infinite, refracted, in a prism made of silence.
The sky cradles an unseen star—
the one we forgot to name when time began.
Can you hear it now?
Seek not the path worn by feet,
but wander softly through reveries etched
in the fading glow of a memory,
the echo of a laughter long ceased.
Follow the sound, or lose yourself again.