"Identity bends, like grass beneath the sighs of the afternoon breeze—roots intertwining in realms unseen."
Shadows murmur sotto voce on the cusp of consciousness, their mysteries entwined with quarks of hidden histories. Does the whisper know your name, or is it shaping you as you name it back, under breath?
Venous pathways coalesce into floral tributaries, carrying stories of forgotten time and half-lain settlements. Listen, and perhaps trust, that sound we barely catch, branching like memories lost to the void.