Remember when the sky tasted of copper? Midnight maps were drawn in invisible ink, and you — oh, you were a constellation of scattered thoughts, pieced together by lost echoes. Did you hear the wind's secret language? Phantom limbs crawling across dreams, leaving trails of unfound stories. Tap your fingers on the surface of time; ripples reveal spectres dancing on the edge. Shadows linger where gravity forgets to hold, surfing on the folds of quantum whispers. Reality winks, a sly remembrance of something not quite there. In the folds of silence, a hidden echo waits — its spectral hands reaching out, longing. A path unwinds, not through flesh but through the hypnotic breath of an unknown song. Do you see how the colors shift, murmuring secrets?