Somewhere beneath the morning mist, the borders slept, quietly weaving dreams of connection and solitude in equal measure. Here, where continents meet under the indifferent gaze of stars, whispers echo of those who wander between dreams and reality, seeking solace in the arms of the unseen.
The lullabies hum softly, touching the edges of forgotten languages, resembling the rustling of dry leaves on roads less traveled. Solutions etched in shadows, temporary as the moonlight that dances across glistening dew drops, tell stories of fences made of hopes rather than barbed wire.
And in these intercontinental slumbers, there's a space — an ethereal pause — where time loses its grip, and the heart finds rhythm in the compass of dreams still uncharted.