Above the horizon, where possibility meets silence, a vessel drifts. It is a speck, a thought adrift in a sea of endless black. The vessel speaks only to itself, its voice a mirror of the void's own secrets.
Stylistic ripples echo beneath the surface, unheard, unseen, unraveling time. Such is the fate of dreams left untended, hanging in the static like whispers on an invisible wind.
buzz
Journey deeper:
Return the whispers, lest they be lost forever.