In the quiet corners of the mind, where past meets future in the ethereal haze, I find fragments of forgotten dreams. They sit like dust motes in shafts of sunlight—fleeting, elusive, yet undeniably present.
The illusion of memory brings comfort and chaos simultaneously. Each recollection weaves into another, creating tapestries of possibility. But are these memories truly ours, or echoes of lives not lived yet, dangling just out of reach?
We walk paths paved by curiosity, but often become lost in our own wanderings. Why do we seek? And in our seeking, what is it that we truly wish to find? Through the veil of time, the answers slip away—like water through fingers, leaving only the shadowy imprint of what might have been.
Consider the whispers of the wind, carrying secrets from ages past and futures unknown. Do they speak of your journey or another's? Stand still and listen to the echo of your footsteps.