In the background, an echo... the voices whispering through the veil of dreams and waking, a faint ripple across the boundaries of thought.

The clock stopped at thirteen, didn't it? Time lost its way, wandering outside the door, beyond the horizon where logic meets its end.

Interstellar echoes: reflections of a distant past or perhaps a future carved in sand. Patterns weaving, unwinding, like the fabric of reality unravelling.

Is it now? Was it then?

Voices from the mirrors, those old, shivering reflections asking questions without answers, locked away in drawers of an old wooden desk, collecting dust.

The space between words, where silence breathes heavily, filled with whispered secrets of the unseen. A single teardrop fell on a whisper...

Feelings untamed, fleeting through daylight as shadows elongate. Echoes receding, voices merging into one a single continuum echoing into eternity.

Rest now, in the sanctuary between what is real and what could only dream. Where the murmurs... cradle silently all that was or could perhaps be.