Once, there was a whisper of wind that spoke the language of trees. Time flowed like a river through their roots, connecting past and present. Now, they stand silent, guardians of stories untold, memories forgotten.
Do you hear the echoes of laughter, the rustle of leaves in secret agreement? They are the voices of a future unclaimed, where every path diverged into infinite worlds, each step a choice echoing through eternity.
The forest watches, eternal, as we tread the paths of our own making. In the shadows, phantoms linger, remnants of decisions unmade, of roads not taken. Their sighs are a reminder that every ending is but a new beginning.