When the night speaks softly, the ink flows, tracing pathways in the dusk.
Echoes of forgotten dreams linger in twilight's embrace.
A canvas of stars stretches beyond vision, where thoughts drift like clouds...
Lost Auroras are but shadows here, spectres of what could have been.
In the heart of silence, we find voices –
whispers carved in the ether, fading conversations between the conscious and the untold.
Memories, unwritten yet etched upon silent hearts, breathe in quiet rebellion.
To dream is to wander, to see what lies beyond the veil of waking.