A whisper grazes the edge of perception, too faint yet oddly familiar, like an echo of a past unclaimed. Endless murmurs ripple through the dark ocean of consciousness.
The edge of your world met mine, I thought I heard a voice say, though it belonged to no one I could see. It resonated softly, hanging like a forgotten tune in the dewy air, as if plaintively searching for an answer.
In the quiet, specters of memories weaved around me, cloaked in shadows, their features undefined yet eerily close. Each silhouette carried tales untold, suspended in the synapse of stray thoughts, slumbering beneath layers of reality.
Enter the DivideSomewhere, a clock ticked without sound. Moments merged into one another, spiraling endlessly. A narrative penned by an unseen hand took form, tracing lines across the boundless night like a constellation yearning for recognition.
"The labyrinth of skies holds truths yet to unfold," came another spectral remark, forever lost in transit. It lingered over my senses, a delicate thread woven through the loom of dreams.
Beyond the HorizonTime here is a shadow, flickering in and out of dimensions. I sit and listen to the silence filled with echoes, these ageless dialogues rehearsed beneath the stars long before their birth, speaking of lands untouched by feet or thought yet achingly familiar.
Lost Soul