There was always a beginning hidden beneath the surface, like soil over roots, like dreams cautiously awaiting dawn. Only the moon knew, the sentinel of night, keeper of enigmas. And the stars, indifferent witnesses to the solitary acts of genesis.
Time stretches and contracts, a rubber band made of thought and longing, echoing the memories of futures never claimed. With threadbare hands, we weave stories into the fabric of yesterday, only to find they were never ours to tell.
A forgotten chapter whispers in the corners, a footnote to existence, a ghost of a word unsaid. The clatter of lost expectations mingles with the scent of forgotten rain, cascading through alleys of the mind.
There it is, the revelation breaking like a wave against the shore of consciousness. It sings, not of triumph, but of resignation, a lullaby for restless souls adrift on seas of ink.
Explore the Abyss