In the silence, echoes of forgotten syllables dance on the periphery of consciousness. A vastness stretches beyond the horizon of thought, where remnants of once vibrant dreams dissolve into the infinite.
"Remember," it whispers, "the shadows that embraced the light at dusk?" These words linger like smoke in a dimly lit room—fleeting, yet hauntingly persistent. In this void, memory is both an anchor and a mirage.
Steps taken in the past, now mere phantoms, trace paths in the dark—a constellation of choices that never were. The void, both a muse and a mirror, reflects what is and what might have been.
Follow the Whisper