When you stand at the threshold, where silence consumes the echoes of distant dreams, a whisper threads the air, capturing shadows of footprints left unwritten. The ground turns to dust beneath, yet a mosaic of memories trails in ethereal light.
Feel the airy sweep of possibilities brushing past your ear. They tangle in hair like strands of whispered secrets, truth woven between the strands of night shadows and sunlight glimpses.
Each step into the unknown is a retreat into known corridors of existence, where the echoes of yesteryears linger, pressed into your forehead like the kiss of an indelible dream.
Speak softly upon stepping gracefully into oblivion's arms, lest the stars hear and awaken a slumbering sojourn—navigate through mists and whorls, resting on memories like petals on a pond, ripples fading into a distant rhyme.