The truth lingers here, in the shadows of our forgotten thoughts. Does it hurt to whisper it aloud? Or perhaps, it is the mere act of speaking that brings a shiver down the spine.
It's been said that the walls have ears. Why then, have they remained so silent? Or are they simply echoing what was never said, hoping that some past truth remains intact within these pixels?
Intuition is a beast, sometimes fearsome, sometimes comforting. It prowls the edges of our conscious selves, waiting for the sliver of doubt to widen into a chasm of realization.
Are we lost, regardless of what paths we choose? Weaved into the fabric of our decisions is a truth that time cannot erase. Take a moment. Breathe. Feel the weight of history pressing against your chest.
If the corridors of time were ever so slightly rearranged, would we even recognize ourselves? Turn the pages of this digital diary, read the echoes molded by pixels that hum with whispered secrets.