In the echo of yesterday's fading light, I trace the footsteps of the unsung tomorrow. A world once envisioned now drapes itself in the veils of forgotten futures, where the sands of time have whispered their lingering secrets to the weary winds.
"Does the silence cry out for us, or do we cry out for the silence?"
Moon of the past, shed thy luminous truth upon our shadowed existence.
The pages of existence turn without a reader; the ink, dry upon the contact of lost consciousness, tales etched in the marrow of its loneliness. What is written, yet not read, remains forever unfolding in the cosmos.
There are paths not chosen, like untraveled roads under the watchful gaze of forgotten constellations. These roads, marked by decision's absence, weave through the landscapes of unformed identities.
"In the stillness of the eternal dawn, memories linger as fleeting dreams."
Once, we gathered dreams like fireflies, entrusting them to the night sky. Now, they dance among the stars, illuminating the dark with memories of our unspoken wishes.
Embrace the end as a new beginning, a cycle spun by unseen hands. As time flows through its endless corridors, each moment caught in the web of existence becomes a bead of light on the string of eternity.