Even through the silence, I can hear the whispers—soft echoes of yesterday's choices weaving through the ether. Like stars, they blink with a significance I fail to grasp as they reorient my nebulous thoughts.
Do they know of their own weight, these memories? They spiral inwards, refusing escape, drawing me into singularities imprinted by time's slow contraction. Knowing, yet not knowing—a dance of endless paradoxes.
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