“What do shadows want?” whispered the wind, as it
danced between strands of reality and mirage.
And the questions seeped through like whispers of ghosts retelling a
story now lost to the world.
Through every veiled breath lies an echo of eternal reminiscence. Perhaps we are but echoes ourselves, resonating until the universe's fabric unwinds and gathers dust upon its forgotten loom.
Imagine the moment you cease to be a remembered figure. Embrace that singular moment; therein lies the truth of time's own oblivion.
Amidst ceaseless echoes, there sits a hushed unheard silence, cradled by the breaths that once were stars. Would you dare to traverse its profoundly quiet expanse?
Moments convincing themselves as permanence writhe in the ink of ephemeral illusions. You grasp at the illusions, but like icicles under a mid-morning sun, they slip through grasping fingers.
“Is there truth in visions we see?” ponder the lonesome echoes, communicated deep through the transcended void.
Question not the intention of a vessel adrift – for it is the adrift purpose itself which creates essence, enlivened by silent starlight.
Containers of Light opened as questions the universe forgets between its yawns.