The Eternal Descent

In the shadowed skies, figures drift silently, as memories do not remember remembering. What is it to descend, other than a journey back to dust? Somewhere solid waits, awaiting hands that reach for the past unseen.

Consider the clouds that pass overhead, draped in twilight. They are like us, transient, ephemeral. They whisper secrets to the wind, who carries them out of reach, where no ear shall listen.

Here, amidst the falling dusk, reflection becomes a mirror to the soul. The descent is a remembering of forgotten skies, a dance of shadows on the edge of the world. Before the night falls entirely, let us consider the stars that once were.