Beneath the conscience lie traces, where a mind wanders during the solitary shadows of night.
Mutedly thrumming, whispering truths only half held, suspended in the cradle of dreams forgotten.
There is an echo within the path untraveled—feelings scattered like leaves on the once-warm autumn road.

What truths go unexplored, hidden in the light's oblivion? Might their absence shape the birth of new destiny?
When does a path illuminate itself by our willingness to tread—or merely by our choice to abandon the familiar?
Pausing, one becomes acutely aware that remembrance is not heralded by memory, but forged anew in dreaming.