Standing at the threshold, the air was electric. A gentle hum resonates, whispering secrets only half understood. The invitation to step forward is palpable, yet shrouded in mystery. You see dim outlines of faces, strangers yet familiar, reaching out from the past.
The threshold holds weight, not measured in stone or wood, but in time and shared experiences. A fragment of thought surfaces, "We're waiting," spoken softly as if carried by the wind. You pause, wondering who 'we' are and what waits. Will you cross, or linger in the echoes of choice?