The whisper drifts among stars, asking if beyond its reach lies meaning etched in cosmic dust.
In the labyrinth of mind, purpose flickers like a candle beneath the waves of consciousness. Telepathic whispers converge, yet diverge, in a dance of intangible intentions.
Have you heard the clockwork ticking in silence? It measures thoughts, not time, eons unravel in moments.
We are echoes, reflections of fractures in reality. What binds us, what unbends us, in the twilight of understanding?