In a realm where the echo holds the weight of past regrets, the two-legged thoughts march steadily by. Each step, each pause, reverberates through the hollow corridors of memory. We walk, unknowingly, towards the places we have never left, and the shadows of ourselves fetch the silent records of what was once cherished. And in that echo, the past embraces us like a long-forgotten melody.
The sky is a window to eras untouched by the relentless march of minutes. Beneath it, the forest winds whisper ancient secrets to those willing to listen, to hear the stories the rustling leaves unfold. The branches wave in rhythm, rehearsing lines whispered by the stars, and for every glance upward, an eternity caught in a fleeting second.
Yet, even the resolute sun gives way to the night, melting into dreams unbidden, where once-simple joys unveil their complex truths. Like an old photograph, forgotten yet remembered, the play of light and shadow upon faces that have long left this soil, a dance performed in tranquil solitude.