Once before the time unfurls I was wandering lost amidst echoes forgotten, along sands unkept where shadows scarcely drape. In this dim light, beyond curious eyes, the echoes spoke, a language of nonexistence, hanging the wayward traveler by a thread.
The path whispers, though tread we not. Each grain a universe, caught in the moments of tread, speaking secrets in hushed tones. Silence adorns the traveler, an unknown guide. Directions omit relevance, knowledge iota of hinderance.