The shadows speak, but only the brave listen. Do you recall the alleyway? Where whispers carried promises of tomorrow's forgotten truths?
"I was just passing through... it's never really my fault, is it?"In the depths of sleepless reveries, you find fragments of voices. Each a puzzle piece, yet they fit nowhere:
Amongst the clock's incessant ticking, a fragile melody emerges, weaving through the air.
"Sometimes, I think about the things we never said. Did you hear them too?"The mist curled around her, a delicate armor against the world's harsh gaze. Seconds passed, each laden with unsaid confessions.
"We're all culprits in our own stories, aren't we?"When light breaks the barrier of night to dawn, reality nudges you awake. But the confessions linger, echoing through your mind.
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