The horizon stretches, its fingers just out of reach, tracing patterns in the dust of forgotten moments. I walk through fields plowed by thought, each furrow a path leading nowhere and everywhere, a winding ribbon in the tapestry of the mind's eye.
Voices echo beneath the surface of the lake, rippling through the currents of memory. They murmur secrets in a language only the heart understands, and I pause, listening to the sigh of distant constellations.
Here, in the warmth of twilight, I uncover layers of dreams long buried under the weight of waking life. They dance like shadows, flickering against the glow of an invisible moon.
Do you hear them? The whispers that weave the fabric of what could be? They twist around my thoughts, connecting the dots of an uncharted cosmos. I reach out, tracing lines in the air, drawing constellations of my own.
Follow their songCapture the light
Time, a silent spectator, watches as I navigate these endless paths beaten into the soft earth beneath my feet. Each step is a word, a sentence in the story that writes itself as I wander.