Under the evening's veil, a whisper echoes through the alleyways of thought.
Mirrors clutching at the edges of the universe, holding fragments of time in their crystalline embrace.
Time ticks in reverse, its hands reluctant to let go of yesterday's dreams. The mirror speaks in riddles, reflecting not what is, but what could have been.
Whistles of bygones, caught in the tendrils of a cosmic breeze, rustle through the chambers of forgotten days. Listen—do you hear the clocks that chime when they shouldn't?
Here lies the elastic present, stretching into the horizon. Tomorrow's echoes decay into silence, folding into dusk's fabric. Yet, hope reflects an endless horizon in the mirror's gaze.
In the labyrinths of your mind, every path is a promise waiting to be kept.
With each layer, a new truth reveals itself, hidden between the glimmers of a future un-trodden.