The universe hums a silent song in the corridors of curved mirrors. Where reflections do not meet the gaze they echo the silent truth: the dream paints itself in shades unspoken.

At the edge of this veil, time undulates. The currents forever moving, swirling tales of forgotten destinies and unseen tomorrows. Words whispered to the winds, yet never caught by the ears of those who seek.

Underneath the surface, like a phantom current, a message glimmers in waters unseen. Touch it, if you dare: to believe is to see what is not there.

Mystics gaze into this phenomenon, tracing patterns in the sky with eyes wide shut. In their reverie, they find not the answer, but the question that births all illusions.

An infusion of thoughts, as distant as the stars, yet as close as this moment.