Within the periphery of consciousness, waves ebb eternally, their whispers invoking memories of lost epochs. Each crest a mausoleum for histories unmade, a canvas for dreams suspended in the amber twilight.
Glimmering on the horizon lies the episodic shimmer of moments both forgotten and yet to be imagined. An orchestra composed of silken sands and the edge of eternity reverberates through the soul.
In the caverns beneath time's gentle touch, echoes call to the curious. Shadows dance between epochs like fleeting dewdrops, their symphony a blur of silent understanding.
Scribe of the waves, bearer of the unwritten truth, you stand at the threshold. Where the deep azure meets the resplendent void, secrets linger in forgotten tongues.
Not far from where thoughts scatter like fragmentary stars, lies the eternal conclave of whispers. Here, time remembers both the beginning and the end, folding gently into the vast tapestry of now.