Stitched dreams flutter across a midnight tapestry, whispering secrets scarcely heard, wrapped around the luminescent seams of fabric unspoken night. Shadows breathe softly, and woven narratives entwine, stitching into being something that knows neither form nor time, stretches like an echo across eternity. Yet... it's all a play of light broken by splinters of laughter heard in hallways absent anyone but a wandering consciousness.

Echoed Shimmers within whispered depths

Sitting at the seam of shadow and hope, one ponders: does the wind speak a language unheard, or are its words but echoes attempted grasping fabric of a forgotten whole? Reflection layers unto reflection, a mirror talking to its twin across a pane of seeing — but what's being said in this secret exchange? A song we forgot learning, a dance we have no steps to.