I wander in and out, like breath caught in a muffled silence, drifting through corridors adorned with shadows, and each step less anchored by the earth beneath. Whispers echo here, they tell stories only half understood, spoken by those unseen souls melded with the undercurrent. How long has the moon been my only compass?

Beneath the luminescent sky, which bruised and softened my reality, I noticed the patterns of light dancing, like forgotten dreams collapsed into themselves. No landmarks guide my way, only trails of glowing dew unravel, constantly shifting yet comfortingly familiar. Am I searching? Or perhaps, just allowing the tide to carry me where it wishes, unfettered by purpose.

The stars above mimic those lost whispers, sporadic and distant, each with its own Timeless tale murmured into the void. I listen for names, for histories, yet all I grasp are fragments, reflections against the fathomless night. Could I be speaking the truth, myself? Or only grasping at the echoes of a voice larger than my own, trapped in luminescence?