The Hidden Gate

The breeze carried silent echoes. Somewhere along the path, a whisper brushed against the ears of the forgotten traveler.
It murmured tales of waking dreams, vivid and unremembered.

Your heart rate synced with the unknown. The hidden gate called softly, telepathic signals arc like whispers on a wire, longing for a voice.
Turning, you faced nothing and everything. An echo awaited.

In dreams, not fears, the figure stood. Commanding silence, yet not void of intention.
Fingers touched reality, shaping futures with unseen threads.

Fragments strung along the mental coastline like starry buoys in the night fog.
Each thought a glimmer of paths untraveled. Whispers cracked the veil.

You may never know how far you traveled, or maybe you were always there.
The hidden gate has no beginning and no end, where past and future gently overlap.