In the winding, whispering corridors of forgotten paths,
where every turn breathes age-old sighs,
lies an echo of what was—an unsung melody.
Beneath stones that rest in shadows’ embrace,
names carved with the tender touch of time,
their stories are painted in invisible ink.
[They speak of a sunlit day, broken by rain,]
[Of laughter that spilled like leaves in Autumn,]
[Of shadows that danced, fleeting, upon fleeting.]
Wander here, oh seeker,
where the topology maps not just land, but losses,
where the only compass you need is your heart.
And should you wish to remember pathways anew,
explore the corridors further:
Contemplation of Echoes,
Steps into Oblivion.
Let this labyrinth hold you gently,
let it cradle your inquiries
in the arms of its bewildering topology.