In the quiet moment before dawn breaks, the whispers of forgotten minds linger like ghosts on the edges of reality^1. Their words dance in the air, weaving a tapestry of thought and emotion, resonating with truths that once were, and may yet be again.
"To listen is to understand the language of the universe,"^2 spoke the seer, whose eyes reflected a light not found in this world. Perhaps it is in these echoes that we find our origins and our destinations—those places we traverse without ever moving a step.
Underneath the surface of what is seen, there lies a hidden melody—a rhythm to the chaos that sings only to those who dare to hear it. Are we not all, at times, nothing more than shadows cast by a light we cannot see?