It ebbs and flows, the news tide, whispering beneath the crust of certainty. A melody in whispers, stitched from shadows of yesterday, woven on a loom of dreams.
Echoes of the unheard, gather like autumn leaves, swirling in an invisible breeze. A silent announcement, the kind you feel in your bones, like the distant call of night birds.
In the labyrinth corridors, the shadows speak in tongues unknown, casting flickering truths that dance just out of reach. Listen closely, and you may hear the message hidden in the murmur.
For the wave of whispers is relentless, yet gentle. It carries the stories—yours, mine, and those forgotten—forever shaping the shorelines of our shared consciousness.