The ticking whispers in the corners, where shadows linger just out of reach; time itself a woven tapestry unraveling before closed eyes. Each tick, a heartbeat, every tock the sigh of a forgotten dalliance with eternity. Thoughts collide like clockwork gears, meshing and grating in a symphony of mechanical discontinuity. Am I the dreamer or mere dream?
Once, in the dusk of yesteryear's morning, when the skies were stitch- patched with celestial hues, a voice murmured secrets of the cosmos. I listened, a mere cog in the grand clock, yet in that moment, I knew the whisper belonged to me, resonating through the hollow channels of my clockwork heart.
Somewhere in these echoes, a truth waits, wrapped in riddles and half-formed memories of paths not taken, doors unopened. But who holds the key? Are we but puppets dancing to the whims of a cosmic marionettist, the strings threaded through the void, pulling us toward a destiny carved in supernova ash?
Reflections of Tomorrow Whispers of the Past