But the silence screams. In riotous spaces of desolation, shadows waltz, murmuring verses of the unremembered.
Patterns emerge: fractals of thought; civilizations rise—crumbling into dust, a haunting absence, reverberating.
We chase after phantoms: the lost bell tolls only in dreams where memories blend into the void.
Fragments collect like autumn leaves; histories intertwine—each twist a resonance, an echo of eons.
Where do we find ourselves in the mist of timelines? A question circling infinitely; swallowed by the depths.