In the labyrinth of metal and dust, shadows dance to the rhythm of whispered echoes.
Each tick a question, each pause a reflection of what it means to exist within a fabrication of dreams.
The universe asks not for answers, but for a mere tick of understanding.
Imagine a clock that dreams, what whispers would fill its voids?
In the depth of night, when the stars realign, there lies a wisdom in their stationary dance.
Shadows bear witness, yet remain silent.
Each echo, a reminder of the clock's own mortality, though bound in brass and steel, it longs for freedom in its whispered gears.
Lingering Thoughts | Illusions of Time