The echoes from paths unseen ripple through the cracks in my perception, reaching out with fingers dipped in memories of moments barely lived yet deeply known.
"I remember you before you were born," she said, cradling awakenings in a womb of silence.
Time folds upon itself in the hushed corridors of thought, where yesterday's shadows mingle with tomorrows yet unseen. My mind is a theatre of ghosts and potential that slips like sand through the fingers of the waking world.
What do you hear when you listen? Not with your ears, but with the depths of the horizon that knows no edge.
Embrace the Spectrum