Beneath the surface of sand, time once unraveled itself, exposing histories written on the quiet tongues of wind. Whispers of the past cling to the remnants of what once was, eroding softly, patiently, until only glistening outlines remain. Do future generations pause to ponder these traces, or is their gaze fixed upon the uncharted silence beyond?

In the shadow of dunes, I found a palimpsest—a faint memory scrawled across a canvas of forgotten air. Dates and names etched deep, then erased, leaving an echo of existence that vibrates across the future's horizon. The histories speak in hushed tones, their voices quieted by the essence of time itself, yet powerful in the reverberation of glistening sands.

As I tread upon this mosaic, each step resonates with the imprint of those who walked before, their stories like grains slipping through the fingers of eternity. What is written is no longer, yet remains—an eternal dance between presence and absence. Gaze upon the sands and see the reflection of our collective narrative.

&&& - The glass of ages shimmers; fragments decay into dreams o' clocks.

Wistfulness trails behind every grain, an unseen quiet, a calm before the wave of now swallowing histories whole. Will anything survive?