Minds whisper like cerulean waves, cresting upon the shores of consciousness. Beneath this, shadows dance in static lullabies.
When voices end, yet still they hum, a serenade in twilight-warm air, musings of galaxies unknown breathe here. Seek through what lies beyond a name.
The sands of thought trickle, trickle. Time does not rush. It listens to the echoes of its own whisper, curious of its own softening heartbeat.
The mind is a tapestry woven by the hands of starry nights. Each thread an unspoken word, each color a hidden memory of dreams deeper than sleep itself.
Every fold of thought is a dream awaiting its dawn. Every unfolding is a story whispered by the stillness of the stars.
Become the silence between the words, and in that hushed space, find the eternity that lies simply, purely, beautifully awake.