In every heartbeat, the echo of the eternity's pulse smooths the jagged edges of despair, weaving threads of silence into a symphony unheard by fevered ears.
Do whispers have shadows? The master of twilight questions the sun's reason, seeking solace within the moon's embrace, unfathomable.
A thought, alone yet bound to all, circles the labyrinth of time, waiting for the moment to dissolve and become a part of forgotten histories.
The river cycles back on itself, a serpent consuming its own unknowable horizon, and in its depths lies the mystery of transient memories.
Can you hear the whispers of what is yet to be? They ripple through yesterdays, beckoning with promises of tomorrow's dawn.