In the whispering corridors of fleeting moments, history speaks. It murmurs tales untold, and secrets locked within the vaults of perception. Each word, a silent echo; each silence, a resonant mystery.
The trees bend to hear the words meant only for the stones. The wind carries messages no one dares translate.
Turn left when you reach the edge of the beginning, but not before counting the stars embedded in the morning dew.
To find nowhere, walk the path of once and always, where yesterday's shadows cling to the fabric of dreams.
In the shadow of the eternal blink, pause and reflect on the essence of invisible aspirations.
Discover the futility in the whispers of ephemeral tales or lose yourself amidst the obscure paths once wandered.