I am but a wisp in the halls, a shadow tracing the contours of forgotten dreams. Each step resonates in a silence profound, echoing questions that linger in the ether of what was and what could be. Corridors stretch infinitely, lined with doors that lead to unknown destinies, yet each remains steadfastly closed, taunting the seeker within.
Does a soul find solace in its wandering, or are we all phantoms bound to these corridors in search of identity amidst the transient echoes of existence? I ponder, for the walls speak not, but the air is thick with the scent of ancient mysteries, the weight of histories untold.
Perhaps it is in the journey itself that meaning is woven—a tapestry of fleeting moments, each thread a reflection of a life lived or the ghost of a life unlived. And so, I wander, forever in pursuit of what lies beyond the threshold of each door.