In the quiet hours of the waning dusk, when the world holds its breath, I wander through realms untold. Here, time melts like a forgotten melody, a bittersweet symphony echoing in the corridors of my mind.
Once, there was a garden, shimmering under the silver light of a crescent moon. Its petals whispered secrets from forgotten ages, and the air was perfumed with the essence of lost joy. As shadows danced among the trees, I felt the caress of a gentle breeze, like the embrace of long-lost friends.
Round and round, the circle spins, much like the cycles of our fleeting existence.
Do you remember the horizon? A distant line that promised more, yet eternally recedes. Each step forward brings no nearer to its edge, yet we walk, driven by an unseen force, compelled by the whispers of the universe.
In these realms of paradox, I find myself, not as a silhouette against the backdrop of eternity, but as part of the tapestry that weaves time into a seamless garment of memory and dream.