The moon curls its fingers over the astral horizon, soothing the night's reluctant awakening. Beneath this celestial blanket, words float, whispered by shadows. They weave through the tapestry of thought, forming patterns too ethereal to grasp, yet achingly familiar.
Listen closely, and you might hear the soft sigh of a forgotten lullaby, drifted on the veils of sleep. It cradles the unsaid, a gentle embrace of what could have been; a mother tongue untaught, lost in the recess of unspoken dreams.
Ever so softly, the dilemmas unfold like petals of a midnight bloom. Each decision suspended in the ether, waiting for light, for touch. Can you feel the pulse of the universe beneath your fingertips, whispering secrets in a language only the soul understands?
And so, here lies the path to whispers and wishes, a labyrinth of echoes where each turn reveals a fragment of truth, or perhaps, an illusion. The gentle hum of the cosmos reassures us, even amidst the storm of shadows.