In the back alleys of thought, where the light barely pierces, words float like fog - a mirror to one's soul.
Each whisper echo that grazes the edges of understanding carries stories untold, yet known.
Paths untaken linger along the periphery, twisting like shadows before dusk, waiting for brave souls or curious wanderers.
What are they waiting for? Perhaps they speculate on silence and sound, and the symphonies that play behind closed eyes.
The reflection on a puddle, whispering to the stars - a connection between worlds.