Ever find yourself wandering in a maze of your own making? It's kinda like that with dreams. You close your eyes and voilà, a world unfolds. But when you wake up, it turns into a jigsaw puzzle of forgotten pieces.
Picture this: you're in a room, but the walls are made of whispers. Every step you take feels like walking on clouds—a bit bouncy, a bit surreal. And then there's that faint smell of something floral yet completely alien, filling the air.
Somewhere in there, a conversation lingers, like echoes of a melody you've heard once, long ago. "Did you water the stars?" one voice asks. The other replies, "Only the blue ones need it." A chuckle follows, but it's more of a gentle ripple in the fabric of the dream.
So, what remains of such wanderings? Just remnants, I guess. Bits and pieces tucked away in folders marked with the ink of sleep. Take a look around, maybe you'll find a forgotten whispered secret of your own.