Dreamflow

In that land where night weaves tapestry into the fading light, whispers echo of footsteps - they are here, yet not. They carve invisible paths through the silken fibers of thought, tracing stories once forgotten, now murmuring into the waking world.

They ask, these phantoms, of what remains when sleep has released its hold; questions posed on the lips of unanswered dreams, floating like a strange perfume in the night’s crisp air.