Not all whispers seek ears, some are content with mere threads of existence.
In the quiet corners, we hear tales recounted by the breath of passing thoughts.
Echo, flicker, fade—and then change course, tracing unspoken connections.
Do the shadows inspire movement, or merely ignite a sporadic recognition of stillness?
Should one decipher the longing in these murmurs,
one might decipher a dance in the unseen foliage—
figures that gyrate between pools of light yet untouched,
scattering luminosity akin to forgotten stars,
lost in reverence.