Echo/Reckonings

If an echo had ears, would it listen? The corridor stretches like time, relentless, yet inviting. Each step not actually taken creates phantom vibrations—where paths diverge, and convergences sigh. Shadows embrace, whispering secrets of dawns past.

The voice in the walls murmurs unabated, recounting tales of footsteps long gone. They say beginnings hold endings, echoing in their cadence—a mantra—and every corridor tells a story, not in words, but in silences.

Flickers of remembrance cascade like forgotten luminescence, light lost in the gravitational pull of an inexplicable calm. Resonated sighs slip through gaps in reality like smoke through fingers, a gentle reckoning for the soul not yet prepared to forsake the familiar. Yet here, an unseen clock ticks, unwinds, before reverberating into itself.

Whispers of the Fading Wisp
Endless Voids and Tangible Dreams