In the endless corridors of whispered histories, where echoes of forgotten echoes linger, lie the archives of dreams unmade, tales of what might be, hidden beneath the dust of time.
Like a river winding through the forest of memory, the words flow, a tapestry of silk and shadow, where every stitch is a moment, and every moment a universe unto itself.
Fractal thoughts unfold, spiral beyond sight, a labyrinth of verses, arching and weaving, through the timeless heart of a world unseen, resting, waiting, for eyes to awaken.