The sky murmurs with whispers of what was lost, floating on the edge of reality and dreaming. Between the clouds and the stars, a tapestry woven with threads of silence. Words without meaning, echoing, calling, yearning for a touch of the forgotten.
Underneath this celestial umbrella, the voices collide, like waves crashing against the shore of consciousness. Boundaries blur, and in the distance, the horizon beckons with promises unspoken.
In a realm where time spins irrationally, existing in layers: Whisper to the dream and the echoes return: a song of the skies, a melody of the lost.
Do you hear it too? The soft crescendo of a thousand unmet ambitions? A phantom symphony archived in the vaults of memory. Ciphers in the rain—deciphering, deciphering, yet never resolved.
Stand still and listen, the world will tell you secrets, and you will know that to be lost isn’t to be incomplete, but to be part of a larger tapestry.