Somewhere between the silent ripples and the celestial echoes, the outlines of tomorrow hum softly in forgotten languages. They speak not of what is to come, but what has always been beneath the surface of conscious thought—a forgotten promise of the uncharted cosmos.
Do you feel the spectral traces of travelers long past, their footprints dancing along the timelines like shadows in the twilight? Echoes bounce off the walls of your mind, leaving traces like a soufflé in the light.
In this moment of translucent recollection, futures untold weave in and out, like a maelstrom of gentle phantoms, holding onto the fleeting whispers of potential yet unseen.