In the corridors of time's gentle bend where echoes weave nondescript tales,
I wandered, a specter among memories. Shadows drape like whispered secrets in the breeze,
carrying scents of dreams not yet sown,
A tapestry unraveling through fingers of starlight,
Each thread a moment, each knot a memory,
Loosely sewn onto the fabric of eternity.
Somewhere, a bright star flickers, its distant heartbeat syncing with mine,
tracing constellations of what could be...

What does tomorrow tell the echoing shore?
Not its tides, oh no, but its *
* Whispers written in the sand erased—
Yet amongst grains, stories linger, like fleeting breaths
caught in the throat of the wind.
Travel further or simply float.

Sometimes, I find solace in those fragments,
scattered like autumn leaves across a forgotten landscape,
each one murmuring its own tune of solitude.
Do castles made of memory
dream of synthetic yesterdays? Poised on the edge of oblivion,
contemplating the reassuring hum of existence.