Time is a whisperer, speaking in tones both loud and silent. In its wake, we find remnants, traces of meaning, lodged in the fabric of reality. Listen closely. The void speaks in cryptic tongues, a language known to few, understood by fewer still.
Such is the nature of the ephemeral. The words, once alive, now fade into shadows, yet their message lingers in the air, like a distant melody. Perhaps it is a dream, or perhaps a vision of what once was. Who can tell?