Amidst the static of unformed dreams, I wander. Time—the unseen tether, tugging ever gently, slipping between fingers like sand.
The stars whisper forgotten secrets. A hollow echo of infinity resonates where no ear could hear. Each blaze claims a story, although our tongues are often tied.
Do the clouds giggle when the moon sings? Each night, their laughter thumps in my chest—a reminder of the laughter echoing through shoals of thought.
Flight. Perhaps the meaning calls from the shadowlands... to the whispers of the universe, yet I've forgotten how to read their maps.
How many realities fracture and cascade like crystalline drops in an ocean of memory, when the golden flame of imagination flickers too close to the sun?
The question arises: which path holds the answer—various echoes that whisper or the glittering depths beneath forgotten alignments?