In the heart of silence, a tapestry of yesterday unfolds, woven with threads of time spun thin. The echoes of laughter, once vibrant, now whisper like distant phantoms, tracing the contours of a forgotten era.
In the recesses of solitude, where light falters and dreams linger, I find the remnants of moments that shaped the me that once was. Each shadow a memory, a fragment of existence teetering on the brink of oblivion.
Do you remember the whispers of the wind through the old oaks, and how they promised eternity? Now they carry only the faintest scent of decay and the unobtrusive truth of impermanence.
And here I stand, at the edge of a world made of memories, wondering what it means to witness one's own fading. The past clings tightly, refusing to let go, yet one knows the dance of oblivion is inevitable.