In the deep murmurs of forgotten dreams, remnants linger like particles in a sunbeam. The echoes of what has passed, what was wished, linger in these secrets. The wind, the source of ancient tales, carries memories concealed in the folds of the night.
Consider the phenomenon of dreams. They often begin as a canvas painted by our minds, each stroke colored by day-to-day fragments. As dawn approaches, the hues fade. Yet, there remain whispers in the echoes, silent calls of the unremembered.
Much like a message in a bottle adrift in the ocean, dreams exist on a journey. Some may find their destinies intertwined with moments of realization, while others float aimlessly, waiting for the wind to whisper their truths to a willing ear.