In the silent corridor of unwoven thoughts, where time unmakes itself, a whisper glows.
The walls are etched with breath, a luminous scream within the darkness.
You stumble upon fossils of reflection, fossils of dreams.
Forgotten petals cling to a horizon drenched in twilight whispers.
"She spoke beneath the layers of sand, resilient, eternal," the echoes murmur.
The sands shift, revealing words obscured by the weight of ages...
"We are all but shadows, clinging to the light in our own fragmented ballet."
Words are carved into forgotten seashells, their truths dormant in the endless tide.
A butterfly made of ash flutters through, tracing forgotten constellations in your gaze.
It dances in the intermittent glow of curious stars, weaving luminescent silence.
The horizon breaks—an ocean of undreamt whispers flows ceaselessly inward.