In the half-lit hour, beneath an azure sky that hums a silent melody, thoughts twist and unravel.
I am walking through corridors made of whispers, where echoes of forgotten lullabies dance around me.
Shadows morph into stories, stories that I have never lived yet feel as real as the breath of dawn breaking over the horizon.
Am I awake? Or have the stars woven tales so intricate that I cannot help but succumb?
The clock on the wall ticks backward, unraveling hours like yarn from a spider's web.
Each tick a reminder of moments unmade, dreams deferred, and realities that slip through fingers like sand.
The clouds whisper, murmuring secrets of the universe, painting visions unshackled by reason.
Colors bleed into one another, forming a tapestry of impossible hues, as I drift further into this reverie.
A door opens within me, revealing an endless expanse of potential, where I am both the dreamer and the dream itself.
Paths that branch into nothingness call to me, sweet sirens of oblivion.
I follow, barefoot on a carpet of stars, under the silver gaze of a moon that knows all my hidden fears and desires.