The Sound of Forgotten Patterns

In the span where echoes fade to whispers, there exists a melody lost in time. Simple vibrations once echoed here, patterns woven into a fleeting spectral fugue.

The remnants of their notes cling to the edges of consciousness, hesitant shadows in a twilight stage. Here, the voices of time sing gentle, yet unending.

We hear them not for their clarity, but for their existence as ghosts that once dared to harmonize across borders unseen.

Perception rises and falls—illumined by no giver. In darkness, the truest color.

What does the shadow remember?