In the hushed remnants of the yesterdays, where stars aligned in forgotten constellations, I heard the echo of a world not yet undone. Paths crossed, the scrawled answers whispered, on parchment thin as memory itself.
Through the corridors of an absent future, the dreams wandered restlessly, seeking solace in the shadowed corners of unspoken truths. The pathway glistened with dewdrops of past tomorrows, illuminating the way forward through the echoes of time.
Fragments of conversations lingered like the scent of rain on dry earth, fading yet ever persistent. They spoke of ephemeral moments caught between dawn and dusk, a delicate dance of light and shadow.
Once, long ago, the rivers sang songs of ancient lore, threading through the tapestry of existence, binding the now to what was and what might yet be. In these whispers, we found our scrawled answers, etched in the sands of forgotten futures.