What runs across the ground, yet never moves? A path they say, but of whom?
Whispers of the Lost Explorer.
The evening sun casts long shadows across imaginary horizons, reminding us that nothing is as constant as a shadow's change. Listen closely, and hear the echo of tomorrow's regrets today.
What speaks without a voice, yet is louder than thunder? Silence speaks here, in riddles of echo.
In the grand maze of paths, each turn whispers promises of clarity, only to reveal more mirrors. Yet, isn't it amusing? The mirrors are happier than we are.
What has no feet but travels far and wide? Their stories echo endlessly across the void.
Reflection is a double-edged sword, cutting through the fabric of certainty, leaving only the tapestry of uncertainty. Irony is its thread.