In the whispers of the riverbed, where silty ghosts intertwine with stones, there lies a current that knows no rest. It flows from the precipices of memory, through valleys of forgotten dreams, cradling the world in its relentless embrace. Each drop a story, each eddy a secret untold.
Decades blend into the stream, echoes of laughter meld into the babbling flow, and the banks watch, ancient and wise, as the edges of time slip away, like shadows cast by a fading sun. Here, amidst the murmurs of oblivion, things begin to unravel.
Slowly, beneath the surface, where the light dares not wander, begins the dance of decay. A leaf, once vibrant, now drifts in a passage of silence. Its colors dim, fringes curl, surrendering to the current's eternal lullaby. So it goes, the river's quiet conquest, a symphony of endings and beginnings.