Somewhere, there exists a harmony unseen, a calculus of memories and whispers echoing through corridors untouched by time. Patterns emerge, not from the mind's eye, but from the shadows cast by realities unrealized.
What do you see when the mind's door creaks open? Not visions in gold or crystal, but silent dialogues between the neurons, a tapestry of thoughts spinning out of control.
Each synapse bursting forth with stories that slip through the fingers like grains of sand. Return to the chambers of solitude, where reflections linger.
Listen not to wisps of fantasies, but to the dissonant yet melodic fauna that traverse through these neural landscapes. Their cries, at once beautiful and tragic.