A fork once stood at the edge of a whispering path, unseen by most, yet its decision etched into the fabric of time.
The fractured paths were an illusion, a single path disguised in forgotten uncertainties.
Round and round, the dial turns, as shadows cast by the infinite loop of possibility dance upon the wall.
Choices repeat in the echoes of a voice long silent, yet ever-present.
Vestiges of decisions linger like morning mist, elusive and fleeting, yet they paint the canvas of reality with dreams unspoken.
Reflections in pools of clarity, capturing the shimmering ghost of now.
Time, a gentle weaver, entwines the threads of choice into a tapestry of silken shadows.
Every knot a moment, every weave a lifetime, echoing the symphony of existence.