Sometimes, nestled within the folds of nocturnal tapestries,
a lone whisper echoes... It speaks of forgotten dreams,
tales untold—woven wisp, unraveling as mind drifts.
The clock leans against the wall, its hands weeping silently, a pendulum of truths we dare not face.
In the labyrinth, each turn recalls fragments—
vibrations of memories, alive, yet distant,
a dance of shadows cast by flickering lanterns.
Breath by breath, step by step,
surely we walk, and forget, and remember...