An echo lost in time, reverberating through empty halls—no destination, yet a purpose. Is there a listener in this complex web of forgotten thoughts? Perhaps the walls themselves absorb these muted waves, transcending the need for acknowledgment… Maybe the clock knows.

Circles within circles, where paths split and recombine, like thoughts assembling and dismantling upon a relentless tide. One wonders if these machinations ponder their own existence, carved meticulously into dust.