The clock ticks not for those who wait, but for those who wander in the echoing halls of what once was. A child’s laughter fading, a lover's whisper, trapped in the spirals of eternity. We walk these paths, tangled and frayed, destined to brush against the web of fate.
Time hesitates at the edges of stories untold, like the pause before a storm, pregnant with the promise of rhythm and rhyme. As old as the hills, as new as dawn's first light, the universe scribbles its verses in the ink of stars.
A solitary figure in a dusty old attic reads the past’s forgotten letters, unraveling the threads. What secrets linger in the spaces between words? What lives have touched these pages, only to vanish into the whispering winds?