In the corridors of yesterday, shadows dance to the murmurs of choral winds. Their breath, faint imprints upon the fabric of dreams, whispers in looping symphonies.
Here lies the riverrun of time, where minutes cascade like stardust onto the rivulet of still moments—entangling realities in the juxtaposition of shadows. What are these echoes but lingering tattooed memories in a skylit room?
Do not seek the vertex where paths diverge, rather embrace the unfurling patterns in the tapestry woven from threads of falling dusk.