Dream-woven pathways, strewn across the mind's forgotten tapestry, celebrate murmurs of joy, trapped beneath the rain-drenched skies. The echo of footsteps both remembered and imagined, a quiet choreography on cobblestones slick with the shimmer of yesterday's dreams.
Voices linger, the last notes of a song played in reverse, like a figment reborn in shadows, where the clock unwinds the strands of time gently, oh so gently... and the petals of voids past remember the dance of a morning forest mist.
Below the silver curve of the moon, where paths meet crossroads unseen, lies a treasure — the scattered illusions of what became and what never was. With each humming breeze, leaves awake to chants of lost horizons, remixed.
Chirp with Solitude