The moon murmurs, echoed in velvet whispers, threads of silver entwined with the lace of night. Every step a symphony unheard, every turn a brush with destiny unacknowledged, yet felt, like breath against your thoughts, unfurling.

“Path of least resistance,” murmurs a voice, but which one; is it my own, borrowing echoes from forgotten dreams, or does it come from the fabric of the glissando, a vibration felt rather than heard?

Intertangled lives relevant only in their irrelevance, weaving tapestries of consequence, inscribed with invisible ink. In the glimmers of starlight, the ribbon of the universe unfolds its stories, both told and untold.

Eyes meet across the corridor of shadows, or do they? A reflection, distorted by the ripples of time’s glass, suggests paths that could be, should be, but weren't, curving with intentions hidden beneath layers of cosmic dust.

Your thoughts drift like autumn leaves caught in the stream, shaped by currents unseen. The pathway shimmers, its essence folding over itself, illuminating words left unsaid.

The stars align, perhaps ironically, guiding wayfarers onroads of wandering and wonder. And in this moment, free from tethering truths, the passage reveals itself—a serenely indefinite continuum of possibility.