The shadow stretches across the dusk, a silhouette of desires unfulfilled and dreams forgotten. It moves with a grace that belies its nature, twirling and leaping in a rhythm that no one else can hear.
I find myself entranced by its dance. It whispers to me of moments missed and paths not taken. Why does it dance so fervently, I wonder? Does it not tire from the endless cycle of night and day? Or is its dance an expression of the joy of existence itself?
Absurdly, I consider whether shadows have feelings. Perhaps my shadow envies the solidity of my form, the way I can touch the world and be touched in return. Or perhaps it seeks companionship in the unlikeliest of places.
And then, the thought strikes me: what if the shadow possesses a consciousness of its own? What if it dreams of being more than a mere echo of my presence, a ghostly figure that dances alone in the dark? Such reflections lead me deeper into the absurd, where shadows become metaphors for lost opportunities.
Echoes in the Mist Lost Horizons