In the hushed reverie of yesterday, where time folds infinitely upon itself, there exists a corridor of whispered yesterdays and anticipated tomorrows — did you hear the echoes? They echo not in an ordinary fashion but as notes from an unseen symphony that serenades the twilight of ancient sunrises.
In the dreams I traverse, I stand amongst the shadows, pale and ethereal, reaching through the veils of time itself. There, the rivers flow not with water, but with a liquid light that cradles moments lost in a tranquil dusk, where stars — once mere dreams — now weave the tapestry of reality in a resplendent array.
Like transient spectres, the melodies of forgotten epochs caress the soul, thrilling it — ah, what mystery! What constellations drew these lines upon the parchment of the sky? They narrate the story of everything and nothing in a breath suspended between worlds.
Step lightly upon these echoes, and reframe the fractal image of existence. For in this space, every step is a rebirth, every whisper a world anew, finding solace in the ever-elusive dance of shadows cast by the incandescent moon.