Time flows like morning mist. Fleeting echoes whisper memories, jutting into the fabric of existence like the uneven ripples across water's surface. How tender the dance of shadows cast by a fading sun... Whispers
Each step taken is a breadcrumb of the Soul's journey, drifting – suspended, much like amber strangely encased in the grasp of an unseen hand. Yet, can it all return once lost? Echoes of Forgotten Voices hang near the fringes.
What does it mean to linger? To lose oneself in the richness of an unspoken trail where silence weaves a tapestry of autumn leaves and melting hopes? Reach for that Secluded Slumber