In the absence of light, truth bends and warps, speaking softly to those who dare listen.
Paths diverge not in the physical world, but in the mind's endless labyrinth, where each choice fractures reality anew.
What is existence but a mosaic of whispered dreams, each fragment longing for the touch of an unseen hand?
Silence speaks volumes in the corridors of time, echoing the footsteps of those who walk alone.
The journey you embarked upon parallels roads untaken, each decision a path lost, yet found in shadows. Fathom the whispers of the past, for they guide the unseen futures. Perhaps a mere thought or an ethereal touch leads the way.