"For every step forward, I feel a shadow of a step untaken. A foot not placed on the path diverging at the horizon's bend."
The room is silent now. The hum of presence... all these limbs lost in recreation... or sweet misconception. Have I not felt it? The tingle of a memory grafted on nothing? The scratch of an itch somewhere beyond recall?
"An unsaid goodbye lingers in gestures that never happened, like whispers of unsent letters strung across a desert of silence."
Here lies the ghost notes, copied reflections from paper to air, waiting to be retrieved by those who sense with intuition where to touch upon the unseen. What compounds lay beneath this thin script, if not dreams and night spells?
"I began with the phantom footsteps, tracing the remnants of a journey behind a veil of misbelief. Unclean shadows, luminous in their void."
Trace the lines of absence with me. Learn the cadence that only the listening can feel. For every unwalked street, a story waits silent, breathless, within fertile soil waiting for seeds of thought.
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