The air thick with untold stories, an echo of lives not lived, but glimpsed beneath the surface. In the quiet corners of my mind, shadows dance to a rhythm only they comprehend.
"I wished for the quiet of the meadow," she whispered, voice trailing off like the smoke of a distant fire. "To lie beneath the stars, untouched by the world's relentless march."
Here, beneath the weight of ages, I find remnants of such whispered wishes. Each one a testament to desires held close, yet spoken only in half-formed dreams and inked reveries.
Have you felt it too, this gentle tug from a time that was but never was? The earth beneath our feet, a tapestry woven of stories and wishes that stretch back, unbroken, through the threads of time.
You may want to explore the echoes further, listen closely to Fading Voice or find solace in Quiet Reflection.