The vessel sails on silent waters, navigate through thoughts unspoken, unthreaded, where whispers curl in the artefacts of sound. The murmur of memories stitched into clouds, drifting endlessly. They say the past is but a shadow, the present a fleeting dance, and the future a mirage untouchable. Yet here, the gaze into echo reveals secrets dormant.
The path is flecked with stars forgotten, a constellation of forgotten names, a rumour of light... Where do footsteps lead when the soil itself remembers not its own form? They fall into the cadence of the ocean's breath, a rippling song of time's labyrinth.
Reflect: when did you last hear the lullaby of moments unclaimed, echoing into the fabric of the night?
Drifting echoes count the cycles, the endless pendulum of comets and dreams. Outside, the universe spins, indifferent, yet here, within the echo, it listens, as if waiting for the answer to a question never asked. Listen… let the murmur guide you.