Do you hear it, the echo behind the hollow door, the whisper echoing off the walls we never build?

We stand on the brink, gazing into the amber glow of dusk's embrace—holding shadows like dreams caught in spider's thread.
Here, in the aching silence, lay tales spun by the fading breath of starslong forgotten.

Our voices—woven among purpling twilight fields, chant the hymn of the uncertain, a melody lost in the sigh of autumn leaves. Muffled by the weight of choices unmade, licking the edges of sleepy conscience, like mouths of streams stretching toward horizon.

The moon cloaks us in its silver spell, dare not question its lull, lest daybreak shatter the calm of this wakeful night. Beneath its gaze, reality breathes more like a willow's dance, rooted yet restless, in the ripples of unknown waters.

Follow us, wanderer, if you dare where paths converge and diverge endlessly, like cicada songs spiraling into the dewy light of the unbroken dawn.