Ghost Echoes
Whispers in the void, waiting to be heard
Sometimes, when the night breathes deeply, the echoes rise. They're soft, like the touch of a shadow sweeping by. The air thickens around your ears, filling them with a sound that's not a sound, but a promise of something forgotten.
Listen. If you listen long enough, you'll hear the stories woven into these echoes. Stories of places unseen, where the ordinary exists in loops and spirals, where reality wears a cloak of mysteries.
Shall we walk this path together? The path lined with the remnants of voices past. There's a rhythm, a pulse—a heartbeat of the universe echoing back at us. It calls our names, even when we don't recognize the syllables.
As we walk, we sense the hypnotic repetitions. One foot in front of the other, a dance with the echoes. The ground beneath our feet hums a lullaby, a promise that things forgotten will one day be remembered.
And then... silence. But not empty silence. Silence packed with the echoes of what was, what could be, if only we listen closer.