In the echo chamber where thoughts fade into silence, sits the reflection of where we should have gone. For every footstep not taken, a future crystallizes in abandonment.
Are we mere echoes, repeating the voices that don't belong to us? Laid like shadows across tapestries of feigned despair. Time itself a serpent devouring decay.
To traverse such corridors is to commune with forgotten truths. Listen closely; the lamentations of existence resonate if you hold your breath long enough.