The deceptive tranquility of paths unwinding,
plucked from the cosmic loom by hands unseen.
A quiver in the ether, a sigh of stars.
Once, in sepulchral serenity, choices blossomed like phantom gardens.
Petals of possibility kissed by the moon's forgotten caress.
Beneath their surface, a slumbering truth lies awake,
trapped in webs of ink spun by the quiet chaos.
Do wanderers dream of choices made,
or of paths that never diverged?
Beyond the opal horizon, the truth breathes,
echoing softly, resonating in the heart of the void.