What lies beneath the surface, hidden, yet known? Paths meander through corridors of thought, where forgotten echoes reside.
Murmur of winds past, do they speak to us or through us? A question devoid of urgency—yet permanence factors the tendrils of time.
Even the stars look down with longing, mapping our minds in constellations of their own devising.
Hallucination: a door to nowhere, yet everywhere, a kaleidoscope of reflection. Shadows dance with light.
An erratic pulse of consciousness; yet, amid randomness, a rhythm emerges. The heartbeat of the universe?
Paths, like memories, intertwine—skinny alleyways with secrets that whisper in the dead of night. Listen closely.
Whispers: ephemeral voices caught in the breeze, fleeting as the dreams we dare not chase.