"Do you ever wonder if the clouds remember the rain?"
The voice was faint, almost drowned by the weight of dreams weaving through the air. He listened, hoping for answers seldom voiced in the daylight's clarity.
Between the echoes, a portion unfolded — "It's in
the way they shape our fears, isn't it? Like waves in a sea of silent murmurs".
There was a pause, a pregnant silence pregnant with secrets, urging him to speak but fingerless of divine touch...
Other stories floated by, barely recognizable yet familiar.
"Within whispers of shadows, truths slumber,"
they continued, imbued with meanings wrapped and discarded in sleep's theater.