There are whispers in the pink fog, gentle as dying embers. "They unfold, like curtains pulled aside, half-dreaming in half-light." I stand at the edge of something invisible, peering into the kaleidoscope of memories. Tears that shimmer like dewdrops upon autumn leaves, caught just before the frost embraces the earth.
A clock ticks somewhere in the distance, its hands made of sand and echoes. "Time bends, a lattice of silver vines around the mind." It's a choir of forgotten songs, singing in languages lost to waking. Oh, how they twist and curve, like dancers around a bonfire.
Across this indigo void, I see reflections of faces that are not my own. "They are fragments, pieces of rain falling on virtual seas." Each drop holds a universe, each universe a dream half-remembered, waiting under their endless sleet.
Somewhere in the garden of stars, there are boxes wrapped in sunlight. "Treasures, they say, or curses, depending on who dares to open the lid." Secrets rest in the weaving shadows, waiting for a curious eye to unravel their tales.
Will you listen, then? The abyss speaks in tongues both ancient and tender. Visit again, through paths untraveled,here or there, where the dreams flicker like candlelight upon the edge of morning.