Between every blink, a universe sidesteps, entwining itself in the space left vacant by absence. The last thought before sleep whispers of dawn, of the inconsequential importance of grains of sand in time's hourglass.

A clock ticks, each beat, a reminder of rhythm and reckoning, yet who listens? The heart syncs, out of sync, with the cosmos, and memory flickers like a moth against the light, terrified yet drawn to its glow.

Here, at this intersection of dreams and echoes, possibilities dangle precariously. We are but passengers, threading through places unseen, drifting with purpose unknown. Echoes murmur in silence, waves crash unspoken.

The mundane becomes extraordinary when unobserved, a dance of shadows across the wall, a fleeting reminder of what could be, of what was once. Fragments scatter in this reverie, lost yet found.

Each pause is a breath, each breath a heartbeat, each heartbeat a thread in the great tapestry of existence—a tapestry woven in the quiet hum of stars. Visions that linger, music that fades, and all is well in the grand illusion.