As currents of thought meet sea-foam dreams, we weave allegories of heartbeats, rhythms out of phase.

What is passion, but a brush against the speculative winds? The forest whispers your name, reformulating history with each step on this leaf-strewn path. (Echoes, Phantoms)

Beneath the shadows of clouds painting their transient destinies, a mosaic softens into accords of flame-kissed twilight. Our thoughts branch outwards, seeking the nourishment of stars.