October 17th, a day bathed in autumnal amber. I stepped outside, the world painted in a hazeophorous twilight. Dogs barked somewhere down the street, their echoes carrying stories of the night before.

The people I pass wear masks of structured certainty, yet I wonder how many curate the chaos within?

Under the oak's tangled whispers, I find solace, momentarily released from the chains of what-ifs.

Following a ghostly path, I stumbled upon a bench engraved with 'Time is an ocean, and we float alone...'

A Glimpse: Today I let my mind roam riverbanks of forgotten dreams. Slivers of solitude escape me, growing quieter as the sky turns to pewter.

In shadows, I hear the melody of ambition and contentment, a tune of becoming and unbecoming.

Where does one find the universe's quiet—the whisperings of wisdom as light slips behind horizon's jealous curtain?

The sun sets on today, perhaps to rise anew, perhaps to leave tomorrow shrouded in mystery...

Follow the Echo