Ever find yourself in a moment that seems to stretch and warp, dragging feebly on time's twisted thread? Like, you're sipping tea beside a long-forgotten stream, lost in cicada songs and winter sunlight slanting through ancient trees, wondering where the hours went? Yeah, it's just like that.
Some days I think I hear voices—they speak in riddles, echoing softly through the hollow chambers of my mind. Perhaps they're lost remnants, wandering endlessly in realms we cannot perceive or merely echoes, time's laughter rippling through still air. It's hard to say...
Take a chance and explore the less-trodden paths. Discover the sands... Let the whispers guide you.
What about the flickers we see on the periphery whilst staring out at stormy horizons? Shadows or glimpses of tomorrow? Don't let them slip away—capture them fleetingly, as grains would slip through careless fingers. Travel onward, through whispers that beckon, until your footsteps find resonance in realms untouched.
Compose your own fragment... and listen.