In the silent dance of dusk, where ink bleeds into the fabric of stars,
whispering echoes carve the air, a language born from shadow.
Patterns weave and break, unseen fingers tracing truths,
as the heartbeats of horizons pulse beneath a veil of night.
The moon's faint glow, an artist in solitude, sketches dreams
with strokes of silken silver upon the canvas of your mind.
Listen closely — the words of ancient rivers flow
in streams of turquoise silence that bend the mirror of time.
A journey begins in the whispers of this breath, in spaces where light
surrenders to the quiet thunder of thoughts unspoken.
Carry the echoes — unseen, unfelt — into the tapestry of your days.
Each pattern a story, each void a universe, waiting to unfold.