Within the corridors of time, grains of forgotten sands slide between fingers, an endless cascade that speaks to the heart in whispers. Each grain tells a forgotten story, a moment of reflection sealed within the silence of eternity.
Am I the same person today as I was yesterday? It seems an eternity since I asked. Each tick of the clock, a small universe torn asunder, revealing hidden truths in broken shards of what could have been.
Beneath the worn paths of memory lies a landscape echoed in soft murmurs, pieces of an unseen puzzle scattered among the echoes of dreams. Sometimes, in solitude, the mirror reflects these pieces—shattered, yet beautiful, like a kaleidoscope of forgotten whispers.