From the depth of quiet streams emerges a voice that knows not how to speak. The ripples carry thoughts, mere reflections caught between time and the gentle sweep of forgotten tides.
The sound of water drips like distant memories, harmonizing in a silent tapestry. Hear them rich with echo, punctuated only by moments of collective stillness. Beneath the service, the restless whispers turmoil, concealed from the veneer of quiet serenity.
Eddies and currents, transient signs of narratives unrevealed. The river speaks when no one is left to listen, tracing in shores of stories forgotten lines, forgotten closures. Pathways wrought in azure memory.
In between the echoes lies forgotten verse, waiting, searching for hearts attuned to the weave of water woven songs. These corridors embrace motion, drawing specters through walls of memory. And they speak, images unmade to mere whispers.