Underneath the blanket of stars, an ocean murmurs softly, secrets untold in waves of silence, whispers to the moon — electric dreams.
A clock without hands, ticking backwards, forwards, the rhythm of a heart not yet born. Shoes left behind at the edge of sand.
Trees grow like memories, branching out into the unknown, roots gripping shadows, light bending around the corners of thoughts.
Sometimes the sky speaks in colors we cannot name, a symphony of hues dancing out of tune, orchestrated by the touch of a dreamer’s eye.
In the labyrinth of the mind, a door creaks open, revealing corridors lined with echoes of laughter, voices whispering, singing, fading.
Perhaps the world sleeps beneath the surface, a giant holding its breath, waiting for a ripple to wake it, waiting for dreams to tip the balance.