Voices weave through shadows, stories unspoken and yet known. Each word a brushstroke on the canvas of dusk, twilight whispering secrets to the stars. A tale of a teller, perhaps, or merely a reflection in the rain-slicked street...
Once upon a time, or maybe twice, the clock ticked backwards, unraveling the fabric of the mundane. Threads of gold, silver, and forgotten dreams intertwined, binding moments that were never meant to be unbound. An echo of laughter, a sigh of relief, a dream that never truly began or ended.
The wind carries fragments, pieces of conversations formed in the silence of crowded rooms. Did you hear the story about the man who collected shadows? He had a jar for each hue, a catalog of light and dark, and a promise that no shadow would ever be alone.
Echoes | Paths | Voices