Convergence of Dreams

The whispering void cradles shadows of words left unsaid, slipping through cracks in the night. An echo or a memory? Indistinguishable.

A faded clock ticks, but its hands play tricks, spinning backward in the dance of a forgotten childhood. The path ahead is lined with mirrors reflecting the faces of those never known.

The rabbit spins tales under the dying light of an aquamarine moon, while the air vibrates with hints of songs once forgotten by time's relentless passage. Listen closely.

Fingers grasp at fleeting constellations, dreaming of a world painted in pastels and shadows. Each heartbeat counts the stars yet to fall. Are they paths or prisms? Contemplate.

Beyond the horizon, the land undulates like an ocean of sand, resonating with the pulse of an ancient entity. Eyes close. Eyes open. Awaken.

The convergence of dreams is silent, a fearsome serenade beneath layers of conscious belief. Truth, or the maze of illusion?