In the labyrinth of thoughts, each turn whispers an echo; patterns woven in silence become indistinguishable from the screams of the moon. 🌅
We wander, sculptors of our own shadows, carving paths in the unspoken void. Does a trail made by whispers exist if none are there to follow it?
Eternity speaks in whispers. Every murmured phrase a journey in itself; every utterance a mirror tracing the edges of infinite. Understand the Echo
These trails, ravines of reflection, gather underfoot like forgotten dreams. Hear the Silence
Are we not but travelers amidst our own reflections, moving at the speed of introspection? ⤥
The patterns remain, unseen, unheard, until the dawn of shared solitude. Leave a Footprint