In the silent moments between dusk and night, when shadows whisper secrets into the void, reflections emerge. They float upon the surface of time, elusive and intangible, like a dream half-remembered.
Each ending a doorway, a cataclysm of beginnings wrapped in the silence of what-could-have-beens. Pieces of a puzzle scattered across the floor of existence, waiting to be assembled, yet forever missing their corners.
Seek the echo of a forgotten voice, trace the outline of absence. The void is not empty; it is full of what is not there, a testament to paths untraveled and stories untold.