In the dimness of thoughts, where time folds upon its own echo, dreams collide in dissonant harmony.
The return is a symphonic departure, a canvas where every stroke tells a story untold yet familiar.
Do shadows remember their source, or do they wander eternally in search of the light they once held?
Stalactites of memories hang, frozen in the moment of their formation, whispering secrets of forgotten yesterdays.
And yet, beneath the surface, a heartbeat—a rhythm that knows no beginning, no end.
Transience, a whispered promise, or perhaps a murmur of continuity amidst the chaotic ballet of existence.
The past, a mirror trembling in the wind, guides a dance of marionettes whose strings weave the fabric of now.
If loops are to be unbound, what of the unfinished symphonies that lie coiled like shadows in the sun's retreat?