In the vast silence, where whispers become the echoes of void, the lost kites wander adrift among clouds of forgotten legends. No strings hold their unshaped dreams, their aspirations untethered in a sky unpitched and empty. Forgotten chapters linger, unwritten, unwilled, beneath the shadows of an unwoken sun.
Paths gaze from beneath their leaves, offering routes to nowhere, to places that were and will be nevermore. The silhouettes beckon from fog-cloaked corners, their silent cries unheard. They are stories succumbed to the winds, tales of shadow and reverie.
Once, they kissed the dawn, the kites of childhood fancy, their colors forgotten in the pale embrace of day. Now they chase time's slips through a sky unbound. Where did the colors go? echoes in the emptiness, a question unanswered.
When dreams talk back, are they the echoes of futures lost, or simply the drafts of gentle nothings, sketched by a hand unseen? The questions lie like dormant kites, waiting for a breath of wind to give them shape once again. Or perhaps, a memory to guide them home.