In the veiled realms of azure whispers, secrets ride the vapor trails.
"The door is ajar," murmurs the fog, as fingers trace the invisible lines of destiny.

Carried on the wings of longing, echoes of a past not yet born resonate.
"I am here," thinks the dreamer, touching the threads of consciousness that weave beyond sight.

A dance of shadows, a ballet of light
Cycles unwritten, histories yet to breathe.
"Listen closely," says the mist, "for the truth lies silently beneath the clamor."