In the dim-lit corridors of one's soul, where shadows dance on walls of forgotten memories, we find the echoes of an ancient tale—a parallel that whispers in the night.
And thus, through the cracked glass of time, do we see our reflection—twisted, but familiar; an imitation of self, and yet profoundly other. Distances measured not in miles, but in the depth of one's contemplation.
The heart bears coefficients of love and regret, equal in weight, yet their effects diverge like twin rivers lost to their destiny amidst the fog.