In the quiet corridors of tomorrow, whispers linger, like perfumes lost in time. They speak in melodies unspooled from the tapes of yesterday. I tread lightly, for the echoes carry secrets to dance with confusion.

Once, I walked a path lined with mirror trees, their glass leaves harmonizing with a tune played backwards. Each step resonated with the past's forgotten laughter. The air was thick with stories, poised upon the precipice of telling.

In this realm, the stars hum softly, guiding my way to the library of shadows where words transcribe the unheard symphonies of space. Here, the future whispers again, offering glances into stories yet to unfold.