Where do whispers go in the dark when they cannot find their way back? The spiral paths of longing, drawing sunbeams through the misty lenses of time. Breath upon breath, as if inhaling the universe's forgotten chants, reverberating within chambers unseen, unheard, except by the heart's silent scream. Echoes, muted echoes, lost in eternity's lullaby.
Your thoughts are ocean waves, crashing against the shore of momentary consciousness, and within each ripple, a fragment of yesterday's dream drifts away to find its own home. A child's laughter mingles with the sighing sea, an eternal promise echoed in the simplicity of a shell's embrace. Reflections
In the end, convergence is nothing more than a moment paused between breaths, capturing twilight's ephemeral dance across the horizon. Here lies the whisper of a seed, planted in the world's forgotten garden, a reminder of what once was, and what might be again. Pathways