Somewhere in the twilight of unspoken thought, an echo remains - a whisper from the deep chasms of subconscience...
The past lives in the layers, fossils of past dreams embedded within grainy sediment.
Isolated echoes once uttered in sleep, trapped in amber-like stillness.
Unearthing these whispers - each a window into worlds forgotten, once vibrant.
Who were we under the stars, when all memory fell silent, swooping down into darkness?
And as the archaeologist delicately peels back time's veil, revealing dusty remnants of a footstep, we ask: What are these whispers saying to us now? Perhaps they long for resonance, a soft remembrance in the ears of the curious and bold.
The whispers turn to songs, murmured legends of yore inhabiting spaces once thought void, but silence has its narrative.
Do these sounds, these trembling echoes, ever cease to yearn? Are they the obsidian shards of our unseen dreams awaiting the light of recognition?
Breath of infinity in repose waiting for hues of conscious brushstrokes.