They speak, the echoes, they linger, they hover, they whisper under the cacophony of yesterday's dreams. In ink, deep and unfathomable, pouring from the quill of darkness, they trace the paths of forgotten trails. Each step reverberates, converging, diverging—whispers caught in the web of time and space, unspooling like a lost yarn down the corridors of the mind.
Voices echo in the silence, clashing with the symphony of absence, where the tangible meets the intangible, where one becomes the other and the two dissolve into the abyss. A girl painted in shadows dances across the canvas of thought, her steps a soft murmur, a lingering aftermath.
Do you see them? The trails woven in the fabric of this silent chaos? Or are they just illusions, reflections against the shimmering veils of reality? Touch the whispers, caress the echoes, mold them into shapes unfamiliar yet intimate, beyond where you stand.
And there lies the abyss, waiting, breathing, echoing your name in the forgotten languages of the stars.