In the dim light of yesterday's forgotten glimmer, dreams curl like smoke,
twisting and turning into patterns that remember your name.
Sitting by the river of echoes, you listen to the silent symphony that
plays, looping, looping, and always looping — never finding an end.
"I have walked these paths before, whispers trailing like shadow, the echo within the echo — always looping."
The moon sleeps upon the water, and the stars blink out codes you will never decipher.
Here lies the garden of forgotten songs, where hearts hum in mismatched tempos,
forever playing in the cracks between truth and dream.
Shadows speak words written in extinct tongues, yet you know they're familiar,
resonating with each pulse of your heart detuned to their silent rhythm.