There exists a murmur in these paths, soft as moths in moonlight, brushing against the edges of shadow. They speak of fleeting moments, held, yet dissolving, Like whispers lost upon autumn winds.
Have you seen the way they step, tentative, through the mazes, as if searching for a memory? The echo murmuring back, were sings though seas echo silk, questioning, unaware it's seeking solace and reunion. Unsolved paths unfurl their fractals upon those flickering screens.
Alone, but thousands once beside you — the silent challenge burrows deep, nesting upon each answered riddle. Where do these paths diverge, — when you were here, or imaginarily birthed anew?
Into the SilenceWhere the Light Bends