They say the silence contains speakable truths, weaving thoughts in the tapestry of forgotten dawns. In your dreams, each glimmer shines with muted whispers, waiting to be unfurled into eternity.
Seek not the dead weight of yesterday, but step carefully upon the shadows of the unaired light. What remains when all is Polish, pristine metal? Glimmers, reflecting on fibers of an ancient dawn.
Remember the inkling from midnight's crowded coziness? Sometimes it echoes quietly, sometimes... It howls. Somewhere in the biting chill of morning fog lies a frozen universe of silent laughs.
Every path leads to another invisible garden, cradled by solemn statues of once-smiling faces. When shadows speak, their lips curl, unfurling forgotten rusted script to a windless sky above embossed with somber stars.
Follow these glimmers; they call to rebirth the fragmented, brittle, whispering dreams. A voice borne by invisible winds hums bravely at the mercy of disarraying time. Listen.