Once upon a time, in the whispers of the void,
a bootlace tangled in the nebula of forgotten pathways.
Shadows flicker - do you recall the names of those who wandered?
Sidewalks under the galaxy's skin, echoing remnants
of laughter turned into celestial echoes,
a decayed syntax of what could have been.
The clock chimed eleven, but the count never mattered.
Your fingertips brush the cosmos; stars scatter,
mirroring paths into the decaying black.
Visit the Gallery of Echoes or find a fragile dream.