In the corridors of thought, where shadows dance like whispers of the unknown, I contemplate the depths.
Here, where solitude clings like the sea's embrace, does the echo of truth linger? Or does it fade like a
The mind is an ocean, turbulent with waves of reflection. Each wave a question, crashing upon the shores of understanding.
In these waters, we search not for answers, but for the silence that follows the storm.
In corridors unused, where the air tastes of salt and expectation,
are you the whisperer, or merely a passerby in the gallery of forgotten dreams?