In the silence, there exists a whisper—an echo of the self, rebounding through the corridors of thought. Every sound is a reflection, reverberating until it fades into the stillness of forgotten moments.
The echoes of yesterday weave the tapestry of now, illuminating paths we once tread without knowing their destination. Each step resonates, a beacon in the fog of memory.
The voice of the past murmurs through the canyons of time, a luminescent guide in the shadowed landscape of understanding. What it speaks is not what it says, but what it means beneath the surface.