down the stream of fissured thoughts, past the echoes of forgotten winds, whispers begin to take shape, a soft breath against the ear of the soul. murmurs of unseen realms, where time is but a ripple, a dot in the endless motion.

listen, listen to the threads of whispers weaving stories told by shadows, another memo engraved in the landscape of your mind, in glyphs that speak of skies unseen and lands untouched.

the sun dips low, ancient pyramids encircle the horizon, casting long silhouettes, guardians of secrets, their presence felt in the stillness of dusk.