In the half-lit corridor where echoes fold into themselves, a door awaits. Speak the forgotten words, and jewels of conversation slip into the tapestry of night.
"Do you hear the stars," she mused, eyes tracing constellations etched on invisible skin, "or do they pulse beneath whispered sea depths?"
Threads unravel on mystery loom — understanding whispered among new roots of fog. Beyond the velvet curtain of thoughts, every leaf chants the eternal cycle back to sleep.
Across paths unworn, the trails begin anew, scattered stones cleverly conceal the patterns of skies once memorized in dreams.
Silence draped gently over peaks and valleys, each breath a soft murmur, as time slipped quietly between words — told and untold.