The clock ticked in the corner, a mocking reminder of what was never begun, yet always in motion...
Did I forget the flower arrangement for tomorrow's remembrance, or was it yesterday's that I needed?...
Thoughts intertwined like vines around a trellis, never truly separate, always grasping, always reaching...
In the shadow of that old oak tree, where light fractures into prisms upon the ground...
Whispers of the past linger, like a song unfinished, echoed in the corridors of memory...
Do the stars remember their names, or were they born in the moment of their fall?...
Perhaps there is solace in the unknown paths, winding through forests of contemplation, or cities with no maps. Perhaps here we can find the song of silence, the melody of the unsaid. Listen or follow the patterns.