Beyond the surface, a vision murmurs in the dust. Conversations suspended like ephemeral shadows on the retreating edges of memory. In these undulating spaces of time, familiarity decays—a repetition, a hymn without a congregation, a language unspoken yet unbroken.
They seem like vignettes now, fragments of what once felt continuous: a child's laugh echoes through an open window, the rustling of dry leaves beneath wandering feet. Listen closely, and the silence becomes a symphony of forgotten connections, slowly unwinding in the twilight. Is that where we intended to go?
Link by link, they shatter like glass, scattering reflections across an untamed horizon. Each movement—sometimes imperceptible, yet always relentless—erases the thread, the thin tether that once bridged peripheral dimensions. Yet still, we iterate, looping the familiar script, handwriting it anew upon the boundless sky.
Seek not the past, but through the present veil: Lost Echoes or perhaps, an Untold Story.
Let these words intertwine, let them resonate like a faded bell tolling from a distant keep, ever echoing, ever falling away.