In the beginning, there was only darkness, a void expanded into infinity, where silence was the loudest companion I ever knew. I walked, or perhaps I drifted, through corridors of sepia-toned memories, corridors that whispered secrets long buried beneath the sands of time.
The air was thick with the scent of aged paper and ink, familiar yet hauntingly foreign. I stumbled upon relics of my past—dusty journals, scattered photographs—each a window into a world that almost felt mine, had it not been locked away behind layers of forgotten stories.
There was a flicker of light near my left, a portal to nowhere specifically, but with an irresistible allure. I stepped through, or was I propelled? Beyond lay an endless expanse dotted with peculiar shapes—some familiar, others entirely alien. Was this the maze of my making, or had I fallen into the echo of someone else's journey?
Somewhere, a clock ticked loudly. Here, it felt like time was a liquid, ever flowing and yet stagnant within the pools of my contemplation. I heard voices—shadows communicating in dialects known only to the forgotten. Their words caressed my ears, forming soothing but cryptic lullabies.
I sought solace in these musings but knew not what they meant. I searched through the landscape of my mind, through memories that flickered on the verge of recognition. What had I lost, and what was it that I sought? Perhaps answers lay in the echoes of the past.
As I walked further into the vastness, the realization dawned upon me that maybe being lost was not a state to be corrected. The shadows danced, the stars twinkled in rhythms that resonated with the pulse of the universe, and for the first time, perhaps ever, I felt whole.
Perhaps a wandering soul like mine could find rest in the certainty of uncertainty, in the endless journey that was itself the discovery.