In the quiet corners of our minds whisper intangible truths, like echoes refracting off forgotten walls. They murmur in tones both familiar and strange, tracing paths left untraveled, yet resolutely ours in undoing.
The river's course is unlinked to the will of the dreamer, yet flows ever in the direction of becoming. Reflect upon its passage, and find the reflections unseen beneath its surface.
Tangled within each utterance lies a universe of possibilities, a tapestry woven in the syllables of silence. To listen is to engage in an act of liberation: to unshackle oneself from the tangible and perceive the intangible.
Is the murmur merely a remnant, or do those sounds possess an essence capable of transcending their origin? Perhaps they whisper tales of futures imagined yet not born.
If one stands upon the precipice of sound, they might hear the harmonics of reality swirling around them. In such moments, vision and din symphonize in perfect disarray.
The echoes may fade into the folds of time, but in their fading lie the seeds of new contours yet to etch their own story upon the skin of this silent infinity.