In a world where light dances shyly on the edge of shadows,
pathways bloom like forgotten dreams under the watchful moon.
The nodes mark places without meaning or purpose,
yet their presence sings of journeys untaken and whispers unheard.
"Do you hear the song of the stars?" a voice murmured from nowhere,
trailing fingers over the fabric of night, weaving tales of glimmering dew.
Somewhere between the ticking of clock hands,
lies the secret of the wishful fog,
echoes of laughter, dreams of silence.