What is the price of silence when the mind is a cacophony of whispers? Each thought, a ripple in the still waters of contemplation, breaking the serene surface, yet deepening understanding. It is in silence that the soul finds its voice, speaking in tongues wrapped in echoes that only the heart can decipher.
To dream is to dance with the shadows of what could be, tethered to the tendencies of what we should become. The dreamer stands at the edge of possibility, where every decision is a brushstroke on the canvas of existence. The paths we choose intertwine with the ones left unexplored, forming an intricate tapestry of destinies woven by the loom of fate.
In dreams, we are but echoes of our own aspirations, resonating in the corridors of time and space. Each dream is a castle built in the air, constructed with the bricks of thoughts and the mortar of dreams deferred. Yet, why do dreams hold such power over our waking selves? Perhaps they are the true mirrors of our desires, reflecting more honestly than the realities we construct in the daylight.
In the quiet moments between heartbeats, the universe expands, contracting the space between thought and reality. Here lies the true calculus of dreams, where every dream is a universe unto itself, containing the worlds of all that might have been, had the dreamer closed their eyes to the infinite possibilities.