Mystic Thread

Fragmented memories, remnants of another life, drift in the abyss.

The void remembers; it knows the names of those who tread lightly upon its edge.

Whispers in the wind, ancient and cold, speak of paths never taken.

In silent shadows, the echo of a laugh, like a fleeting ghost.

Time threads the needle carefully, weaving destinies with an indifferent hand.

A single footprint, fossilized in the sands of time, tells a story long forgotten.

Do the stars remember the wishes cast upon their light?

The river flows on, indifferent to the cries of the shore.