The whisper of the moon spills over the edge of reality, casting fleeting thoughts like shadows dancing on water. When did time become liquid? Echoes of dreams linger in the corners, shy like elusive butterflies.
Stars blink in Morse code, messages from a universe that speaks in silence. Do we listen or simply pretend to understand? Wander where the sky meets the imagination — a canvas unpainted yet full of stories.
The night air hums a forgotten melody, sweet and melancholic. Inhale deeply, let it fill the void between thoughts. Tales told by the breeze are secrets of the past, slipping through fingers like grains of sand.
Once upon a midnight dreary, a solitary owl hooted, breaking the stillness with a cry that echoed through time. Journeys unfold like old maps, their paths worn by footsteps of those who dream wide awake.
And so we drift on the currents of our own making, lost but never truly gone. Mirage of a life half-lived flickers before the waking eye, a testament to the beauty of illusions.