In the bend of time, there is a whisper.
"Life ebbs like the tide, returning only to unravel its own story."
Listen, and you may hear the echoes of what once was; stitched together from shadows, weaving dimensions unseen. These places hold fragments of selves lost in the folds.
Remember:
Each season is a bend, a corridor of time slipped through the hands of existence, where reflection finds a home.
Perhaps you recall:
The landscapes that curve beneath a sky of yesterday's follies, parables raindrops left upon the earth's canvas, awaiting understanding.
Further lies the river, converse with ebbing memories beneath the mirrored surface. Here, a voice speaks without words, a melody only the heart understands.
If you wander deeper, perhaps into the domain of echo, you'll find curtains parted where silence quivers. Shadows dance in the breeze of imagined realities, waiting to be seen.
May you find your path, where dimensions bend and time whispers your name.