Beneath the canopy of yet-to-be dreams, scattered thoughts unfurl. Time embraces the void, sketching
whispers between seconds. In these intervals, Missed messages like old allies fade slowly into unforeseen
roots of existence.
Every tick a thread untangles, weaving stories once believed fantastical. The involuntary dance of moments
past:
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Whispering shadows in corridors of memory.
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Echoes of laughter exploding in sepia tones.
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The unrelenting tide of ebbing futures.
These in-between passages, you walk - conscious, deliberate yet adrift.
Each dawn an inscription upon the parchment of oblivion, inverted doodles etched in the soft light of
waking; is it forgetting or remembering?
Can one discover the universe in a doodle? Perhaps we stray, distracted explorers, the margins of our
narrative peppered with anecdotes written by the hands of forgotten dreams.
Further entanglement awaits:
Echoes of Yesteryear or
Nightwatchers.