It's 3 AM, and the world shrinks to the size of your thoughts, vast yet confined. You speak softly into the void, hoping the echo will return with wisdom, but it only reflects your own silent yearning.
These conversations, stitched with threads of uncertainty, unravel in the shadows of your mind. They are honest and yet adorned with the masks of polite society. Would the real you recognize the voice in this digital corridor?
Imagine a room where every whisper becomes a novel, every sigh a symphony. This place exists, not in a distant land, but within the recesses of your own reflections. You tread lightly, aware that each step alters the melody of your internal landscape.
The clock ticks differently here, its hands dancing to a rhythm only understood by the heart. The mirror distorts, but you find solace in its embrace, knowing that the image it portrays is both you and not-you, simultaneously.
Follow the whispers