In the hourglass of dreams, time spills. Glistening grains slide, one after another, in a dance unchoreographed by fate.
Beneath the surface, whispers of the ancients stir the quiet waters.
"Do the sands remember?" echoes through the hollow chambers of the moonlit desert.
A question folded in the silence, resting
upon the breaths between heartbeats.
Eyes of obsidian, set in a visage carved by eons, gaze upon the passage of silk through time.
Tales in the dunes, they call.
Stories etched in the language only the night understands.
Touch the silk, woven from the memory of stars.
Feel the warmth of a sun that sets only in the imagination.
For here, in this realm, all is possible.
Seek the whispered myths where shadows play, and find solace in their gentle embrace.