In the silence of the mind, I find paths less traveled, where each step is weighed down by the gravity of choices unseen. The breeze carries whispers of what could have been, fading like echoes in a conch shell pressed against the ear of a dreamer.
"What lies beyond the next turn?" I ponder, tracing lines in the sand that dance with fleeting shadows.
Paths intersect like lives in a crowded market, each carrying stories untold. At these crossroads, I pause. Reflect. Question. What journey calls to me? Which path holds the promise of revelation?
Echoes of the Past:
The paths remain constant while our footsteps alter their stories. Sailors once traversed similar routes, whispering their hopes to the stars. Now, here I stand, a solitary figure lost in reverie, tracing the arcane symbols etched by time itself.