There is a reminder in the echoes—soft whispers cascading through the void, like memories that refuse to fade. They linger, stretching across the abyss, seeking form amidst the vacuum. What do these murmurs say, if only one could understand their tongue, etched in the silences between stars?
Sometimes, I wonder how long I've stood at this precipice, staring into the swirling depths below. The questions ripple outward, disturbing the placid surface of unknowing—knowing yet unable to grasp the answers. Each thought, a droplet suspended in the amber of existence, waiting to join the flow of time, yet reluctant to do so.
Dance of Transience: another facet, spinning lightly across the cosmos. Like all dances, it ends, yet in each ending, a new beginning murmurs softly, hidden within the folds of space.
In dreams, the requiem plays on—an eternal sonata of the unreal. Memories Borrowed and memories forgotten rock gently in the cradle of night. They sing to the lost, the wandering souls tracing paths through the starry depths.
And here, a sporadic thought, a fleeting glimpse: "What resides beyond the known?" It's a simple question, yet it weighs heavily, like a stone dropped into the abyss, causing ripples that transcend time, echoing eternally. Beyond the Known lies a myriad of paths, each one a potential echo, each step a new requiem.