Somewhere in the quiet chambers of your heart,
lies the echo of laughter you once knew.
A melody untouched by time, floating gently,
on the ethereal breeze of lost summers.
Murmurs of the Sea,
just beyond the horizon, calling your name.
It's in the waves
that you hear your own voice, reverberating
against the cliffs of memory.
Occasionally, you catch a glimpse
of a shadow—a specter of your former self,
wandering through corridors lined with dreams
that never took shape,
murmuring the whispers of forgotten promises.
The past is never dead. It's not even past.
Step into the dream-weaver's embrace,
where silence speaks louder than the clamor of the present,
and the echoes turn into constellations,
illuminating the night sky of your soul.
Each star a whisper, each whisper an eternity.
In the vast tapestry of these whispers,
you find threads of your existence,
woven together in a dance of light and shadow,
a silent symphony that plays on repeat,
in the infinite expanse of your memory.