In the dim lit corridors of memory, where the sun rarely chases away the shadows, lie the forgotten dreams. Silent witnesses to stories untold, they linger like ghosts of what once might have been. The chapters are unwritten, unspoken, and yet, they breathe with an essence of a thousand whispers longing to be heard.
Here, the words dance at the edges of forgotten tomorrows, tracing the paths of lives not lived, decisions unmade. There was once a door to a garden of possibilities, now overgrown with the ivy of what could have been. Each blade of grass holds an unvoiced promise, each petal a sigh of a past not embraced.
Reflections ripple across the lake of lost time, where the echoes of laughter and sorrow create a symphony of alternate realities. It is a solitary place, where the soul wanders and wonders about the chapters left blank in the great book of existence.