Time bends softly here, where thoughts are suspended in amber, awaiting the touch of a curious breeze. I wonder, what tales have the shadows to tell, if one were brave enough to listen?
In the solitude, a clock ticks, but its hands are mere ferrymen of moments, never in haste. Do we ever really leave this place, or do we simply forget the way?
Observations become echoes, bouncing off the walls of our minds, seeking corners untouched by light. Explore the corners
The air carries a fragrance of stories half-told, where words cling to air like morning dew on the cusp of dawn. Breathe the fragments