Drifting echoes through unmarked thresholds, a sequential unraveling of the untold: whispers of forgotten moments, stirring in corners where the dust of ages settles. A hand, or was it the very air itself? brushes against the sentence not written, lingering in the ether... Conversations oscillate like pendulums in an abandoned clock, counting lost time.
Hours spent, or perhaps they fled minutes, in tunnels beneath realities, where the ink has yet to dry. Mosaic thoughts scatter like grains of reluctant sand, refusing vessels for the dream, the ever-elusive dream.
And then, as if by chance, the echo roared back, reverberated with a resonance of forgotten coordinates. Paths diverge, paths converge. The eternal question: which shadow to follow? Unanswered promises lay strewn across the ground. Step through the veil or linger with the whispers that mourn the chapters never born.