What is time, but a river wearing thin its shores, whispering its secrets to the restless sea?
Here, in the pause, I find the echo of an echo.
Consider the fallen leaves, circling in their eternal dance. Do they know the tree that birthed them, or the wind that carries them into verses of forgotten poetry?
In the dream of time, all fragments tell a story of an unbroken circle.
Imagine a mirror that reflects not one but many selves—each splintered, each whole.
In the corridors of possibility, I meet the traveler within.
What path did I walk that leads here, in a world where decision was never made? Or was it always made?
The door creaks open, revealing nothing and everything at once.
Winds stir the sands of time, revealing footprints long washed away by the tides of memory.
Journeying through this temporal dream, the past is a shadow of the future.
Here, I sit in a moment, endless and expansive. Does the hourglass know its grains are stars?
Or that within each grain lies the universe's sigh?