In the heart of the night, when silence becomes the loudest voice, a spiral unfolds itself among the whispers of forgotten dreams. Each curve, a memory; each corner, an echo of a time where shadows dared to speak.
Do shadows ponder their existence as they dance in the flickering twilight? Or are they mere reflections of our wanderings through the corridors of the unseen? Perhaps the spiral knows, holding secrets as ancient as the stars that blink through the veils of slumber.
A dreamcatcher grasping the intangible, weaving webs of thoughts caught in the amber light of dawn. Shadows sing, not in words nor in sound, but in the language of form and absence, tracing silhouettes on the tapestry of consciousness.
What lies at the end of this spiral? An awakening? Or perhaps another beginning, cloaked in the serene guise of an end that was never destined to be final?