A Whimsical Tentative Cycle

Fluctuating between the known paths and unknown depths, a clock without hands ticks, where every tick is a choice, an illusion, a reality unraveling before your eyes.

The echo of whispers, intertwined with stars and fog, telling stories of old and new, forgotten and remembered within a single breath. Does time remember us, or do we remember it?

Beneath the surface of waking dreams lies the cycle—endless, tentative—waiting for a plunge or a mere ripple on its facade.