In the quiet of the hallways, footsteps—phantoms—trace their patterns upon the dust, seeking something, perhaps the echoes of their own paths.... The mind wanders, drifts, afloat like autumn leaves chasing the wind's breath. A hollow space, yet full of thoughts unspoken, words that tremble just at the edge of consciousness.
You wonder, as these thoughts return, if the whispers ever cease or if they simply rest behind the veil of knowing, teasing with promises of understanding.Once there, twice there... An unending refrain, like waves against a distant shore, coaxing secrets from the abyss.
Reflect with the echoes. Seek the unseen. Choices, yet seemingly illusions created by tides of thought.