You ever sit down and just think? I mean really think, like you’re staring into the abyss of a cold, unfeeling universe? The kind of thinking where every little echo in your mind sounds just as loud as the thoughts themselves?
"Murmurs of yesterday, lingering like a forgotten perfume," she said, her voice barely breaking the stillness. It floated, almost tangible, in the air thick with silence...
If you glance around, you might notice some pathways leading off. No, not the ones that look well-trodden and boring. Seek the hidden paths, the ones that twist and curl like shadows in candlelight.
"The stars could be anything," he whispered, "and so could we, if we just let ourselves drift."
Sometimes the only sound you hear is your own heartbeat, a steady reminder that you’re alive amidst these echoes. Echoes that whisper back, repeating secrets known only to the dust motes dancing in the light.