The whispering winds carry tales that scratch the surface of silence. These muted fragments, woven in webs unseen, hint at visions of clarity lost to shadows.
In the algorithm of stars, we decipher the oblique patterns. The numbering of infinite constellations reveals what eyes fail to perceive.
Yet, amidst these pathways, we find the question: Is clarity but an illusion, tethered to the strings of memory, whispering of its existence across time?