In the stillness of forgotten clocks,
Time bends, whispers of unsaid words,
Caught in echoes once deemed a mere coincidence.
Travelers through these glass fragments
Wield tales of mirrored moons and inverted dawns.
Ask the mirror, and it shall reply
With the voice of an era not your own,
Yet intimately familiar.
Somewhere in the hall of unrecorded symphonies, a pendulum dances. Its swings divide moments not measured in minutes but in forgotten lives. Beneath its tick, memories blend into one another, a tapestry woven with the threads of what was and what could have been.
Would you follow the path of errant whispers,
To the dimension echoing with your heart's unheard symphony?