The passage of moments tells stories ancient yet unmarked by ink or sound–a narrative woven into the wind’s passing, whispering through the trees.

Each clock tick reverberates with echoes of the unheard, etched invisibly across the tapestry of existence.

There are corners of time untouched, where secrets lie dormant in shadows, waiting for light to reveal their delicate truths.

Hushed murmurs carry through the corridors of forgotten worlds, weaving dreams of those yet to awaken.

In encrypted whispers, time reveals the inconsistent rhythm of memories, sketched in notes that linger just beyond our grasp.