Who am I but a whisper among echoes, touching the surface of existence only to leave ripples in timeless waters? Along this corridor of abandoned dreams, I wander. Each step, a syllable in the untold poetry of my unspoken odyssey.
Reflective pools mirror skies of yesteryear, skies once navigated by dreams that soared too high or too low—lost in the ennui of unmet expectations. My shadow, a silent witness, lingers as I traverse these pathways, once vibrant, now shrouded in the sepulchral glow of dusk's embraces.
What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows...? (Click for answer)
In an ever-widening street of sorrow, I stand. A solitary figure with a question, searching for answers beneath shadows... (Click for answer)
Perhaps there lies a compass nestled in the heart of starlit solitude. Perhaps there exists, among the cosmic dance, a guide who knows the way back home. Until then, I remain, wandering the entryway of my own making, in search of echoes, shadows, and riddles anew.