"Perhaps the stars have stories of their own," she said, her voice weaving through the echoes of forgotten dreams. "What if they record our moments in light?"
A man on the street corner, flipping a coin, mused quietly, "Does the Universe conspire with chance, or is chance merely a tool of fate?"
In the distance, laughter, like a melody lost in the fog, hinted at secrets too whimsical to grasp.
"The kaleidoscope of life," someone whispered as they passed by, "is cruel in its beauty, revealing colors we cannot touch."
Further Etchings | Evening Reveries | The Eternal Conundrum