I whispered to the corridors, hoping for an answer.
Each breath returned in echo, yet unearthing nothing new.
There is a rhythm to reflection, a loop. It spirals inward.
It whispers secrets that are always of the past, never of the future.
Have I turned all ways to find this truth, or merely anticipated the return?
Shadows flicker along walls, familiar shapes in understated light.
With every passage, the labyrinth enfolds me deeper into understanding,
yet I find the same crossroads marked by the same stars.
There lies a comfort in this repetition.
A loop of echoes, an embracing cycle.
Through walls of stone, I hear my voice again,
resonating, ever so softly, as if afraid of the silence afterward.
Do you ponder your way? Through fog of familiarity?
Trust in the rhythm, find solace in the endless revolve.
Each reflection leads to another, an infinite prism of thought.
And I—companion of these whispers—find home in their dance.