The echoes are painted with hues unseen, drifting over an invisible ocean.
Words take flight, but where do they land? In the folds of time's silent symphony, a rhythm beats unheard.
Gamma rays of thought dissolve into dreams, threading the loom of existence with whispers of star dust.
In the shadows, the inkless script unfolds — tales of a journey across the void.
Here, the past whispers secrets in a language lost but eternal, like the sigh of a cosmos in slumber.
Mirage glimmers, just a step away.
Whispers carry the weight of pattern, an unseen gravity pulling towards enlightenment.
Closure is but a façade, a pendulum that swings in the rhythm of the infinite.
The tapestry of time, woven with threads of omega, speaks in silent tones.