In the quiet of dusk, the whispers begin—echoes of a tomorrow never seen, of yesterdays forgotten, suspended in the gravity of the now. A murmur like water over stones, smoothing edges, softening the relentless march of time. Can you hear them? They are asking, pleading, weaving tapestries of sound that cling to the skin like dew.
The twilight wraps around you, embraces you in its gentle grip. Yet, beneath this warmth, there is an undercurrent—a tide pulling at the heart, a gravity well of emotions you cannot name. Love? Fear? A longing for something lost? You drift, buoyed by sensations, tethered only by the threads of these whispers. They whisper of mountains unseen, valleys that cradle the stars.
Echoes of the Void