In the labyrinth of the mind dwell shadows of ideas. Is the echo a reflection, or a memory? On some nights, thoughts cast their own shadows, ones that dance only under a glaring moon.
Imagine a garden where melodies sprout as blossoms, each fragrant with time's passing. The bees, diligent and whimsical, carry echoes of forgotten whispers back to their hive.
Beyond the hills that cradle the edge of one's psyche, an ocean churns silently. Its tides weave patterns of lost enigmas, offering fleeting glimpses of what could have been.