In the quiet whisperings of the midnight hour, the canvas of sleep unfurled, revealing shadows that danced like flickering memories lost in the fabric of one's mind.

Beneath the stars, an echo of untold stories pulsated, ink traces of thoughts that wandered the corridors of a dreamscape untouched.

A gentle tremor, the sound of a thousand echoes speaking in unison, wrapped around the velvet night.

They say we become what we dream. If that's truth, then I am a tapestry woven of silk echoes and silvered memories.

What remains when the last echo fades? A question reverberating, lingering, waiting for an answer hidden in the folds of tomorrow's dreams.