Within the quiet corridors of thought, where echoes roam freely over stones of bluest rain, silence becomes a tapestry of what once was and what could still be.
Is it the footstep that defines the hall, or the soul that wanders within its confines? Each step stirs resonant narratives bound to strings of forgotten symphonies, vibrating within the mind’s own architecture.
In whispered nothings, we find the vast beauty of uncharted voids yet to be filled and those echoes—beneath spectral arches—echo, echo, and awaken age-old spirits guiding unknowing travelers.