A melody rises from the void, words unspoken echo in colors unseen, the piano of dreams plays on—yet the notes linger, unshed like dewdrops on early grasses.
Beyond the horizon of thought, a world where shadows dance among the legacies unformed, shadows tracing paths yet tread.
When the night weeps soft whispers tapestries of stories unwoven, and the sky bleeds cerulean quietus. There they wait, the echoes.
Reach into the chasm where harmonies die, the serenades of silence—waiting, waiting.
It's here you find... the photograph stuck in time, faces half visible, one whispers... and you, the rustle of... cotton... You realize...