Once upon a time, there was a starry blanket over the dreams of little people. Below these stars, some stories got covered with dust.
Have you ever seen a fish fly? I think it swims but in clouds. Sometimes I hear echoes of whispers, telling the old stories anew but without names.
In these sands, the footsteps are made only by shadows. And shadows sing, though no one can sing back to them.
Layers Beneath the Dust Dreams on Old Sheets Colorless Tales