A tapestry unfinished, sprawls like a dream—and in its labyrinthine weft, the colors whisper secrets of past solace. Did memory tread lightly, stitching ephemeral joys into the fabric of yearning?
The light dims to a dusk—a violet embrace where thoughts remember the edges of lost possibilities. Each thread a ceaseless echo; a sigh of the eternal weaver, lost in dreams of forgotten tapestries.
Among the folds, stars shine quietly; the woven cosmos lull the wanderer to rest. What visions hide in the corners of a waking dream? Take heed, for the loom turns, and destiny is but a forgotten thread.
Dare you traverse the woven whispers—dares you confront the kaleidoscopic hue of what never was, or perhaps, what forever shall be.