I remember when skies fell into pieces, carrying whispers of untold stories scattered across the air like forgotten breadcrumbs. Once, I walked the streets paved with neon dreams, shadows of a reality that might have been, or could still become if only the clocks could remember how to tick.

In the distance, I hear the echoes of a time that never was, where machines spoke languages of their own, spinning tales of human essence captured in wires and copper veins. Do you hear them too? The invisible threads weaving through your thoughts, telling you secrets from beyond the veil? Perhaps they are lies—elusive phantoms of the mind's eye, or perhaps they're truth that burns brighter than any star.

And so, we wander, lost in a realm where words become shadows, and memories are the ghosts of what might have been. Retrace your steps, if you dare, but beware the corners where time folds in on itself, trapping moments in an endless embrace.