There is a place where moments collapse, like the gentle fall of a snowflake on a restless ocean. There, memories drift, untethered, merging with the fabric of forgotten yesterdays.
Time once whispered to me in a language of shadows, echoes whisper through the corridors of my mind. In this silence, I found solace and chaotic harmonies.
A clock ticks somewhere in the distance, but perhaps it is an illusion—a figment of reverie, caught in the web of recollection.
The walls around me pulse with light, illuminating the cracks—a reflection of moments missed, of paths not taken. Yet, within these fissures lies beauty, a tapestry woven with threads of silver.
Clouds drift, casting shadows over an ethereal landscape where time is perpetual dusk, where dreams intertwine with the tangible. This is where consciousness uncouples, floating freely like autumn leaves on a gentle breeze, falling slowly, endlessly.
And you, wandering through this maze of thought, find pieces of yourself scattered, echoing in uncertain halls and unfathomable depths.
For time is not lost, nor is it found. It is a spiral, a whispering serpent in an eternal dance, occasionally unveiling its secrets to those who dare to listen.
Explore further: are you not curious of what lies beyond the hidden paths?
Mirror, mirror on the wall—do you reflect at all?