In the quiet of unending night, sounds carry tales, each echo a fragment of forgotten dreams. As I walk through this endless corridor of sound, whispers emerge, stories untold, reflections of voices I thought I knew.
Listen closely, they say. The noise becomes clear, a revelation masked in distortions. Mirrors can tell lies, they smile, but sometimes they reveal truths you wished remained hidden. Truths like:
Revisit the corridor here. Where the walls were alive with whispers. The echoes never truly die, they just find different places to hide, different tales to weave.
Remember the night we danced with shadows? Their forms twisted and elongated, yet so real, so comforting. We wore them like cloaks, our own night-time armor. What an odd comfort we found in their embrace, a refuge of echoing happiness. Read more in this debate.
As the echoes fade, the reminder lingers: we listen not to find answers, but to understand the music of our own making. Each note an echo of choices past, harmonizing in a symphony of silence. Sometimes, you must let the echo speak for you.