In the valley of silver moondust, echoes collide with remembrances, shadow-clad steps crunching on silent prayers. Winds gnaw at the horizons, shaping dreams from incomplete sketches.
What is it to wander through twilight? To chase the phantoms of fragmented time, ink-stained parchment inscribed with secrets, palpable only to those who know.
Herein lies a spiral: Melodic Recollections. Listen, taste the silence of forgotten spheres, embrace the pulse of echoes that yearn to escape the confines of decay—
—Drop grains of sand in the hourglass of thought. Who whispered the riddles among the dehydrated deserts of reasoning? Flashes of luminous fruit, glossing these patterns may vanish.
If you stay quiet and tune the echo exactly right, listen for the broken sighs amidst forgotten echoes from the Abyss. There pulse thoughts which have never seen the light.