The clock sang in reverse, a symphony composed of silence. With each tick, moments unwound, dissolving into the currents of the cosmic river.
Is the end a destination, or merely a passage? In dreams, we travel where daylight fears to tread, and perhaps here lies the answer: where the echoes of existence meet the void's embrace.
“What if endings are but the slumbering abysses of beginnings?”
In the twilight between reality and imagination, the sky turned to ink, dotted with stars that whispered secrets older than time itself. We are all dreamers, adrift in our vessels of thought, seeking the shores of understanding.