Imagine a world where melodies play in reverse. Harmony descends, notes unraveling backwards. Does the symphony know the path diverging in singular corridors? Each path a forgotten alchemy.
Simplicity, they say, is a river flowing upstream. What is the essence of this simple path— a walk through the corridors adorned with invisible echoes of yesterday's tomorrows?
In the silence that follows, questions cascade like falling leaves: Are we the composers controlling fate's opus, or mere notes in a forgotten score?
Future Notes Silent Symphonies