"In the garden of forgotten dreams, where the lilies of doubt bloom under the twilight moon..."
Listen closely, and you will hear the echoes of a past not yet lived, dancing upon the fringes of perception.
Shadows cast by lanterns flickering in the dense fog of the mind, revealing paths untaken. The streets sing a song only the brave dare to tread.
"Let your heart be your compass, for the stars above have long been silent."
The air shimmers with the residue of ancient whispers, fragments of conversations not meant for mortal ears. A tapestry of forgotten truths woven in the loom of time.
"Do you feel it?" A voice echoed, faint as the caress of a summer breeze. The question hung in the air, imbued with the weight of unspoken realities.