Do we speak, my silent companion? Or does your gaze trace its own lonely path?
"If the universe collapses in a subatomic dream, does its essence echo in the voids we craft?"
The clock ticks, yet paradoxically, it melts — an illusion too tired to hold its form.
"These dreams are whispers lived backwards, unfinished symphonies of dusk."
A chance encounter with a celestial fragment; wisdom shards scattered across the fabric of illusions.
The Wisest Lies