I wander the underground, where the whispers of forgotten dreams echo. In the depths, I find fragments of my soul—shadows cast by light long extinguished. Each step forward is a step inward, retracing the paths of past awakenings, only to find the same dust, the same ghosts.
Time here is a strange thing, neither moving nor still, bending around corners of perception. I pause by a wall, crumbling and old—to listen to the stories embedded in its cracks. Stories told by voices of the unseen, urging me to remember, to awaken once more. Yet, each memory feels like borrowed dreams, like echoes of someone else's waking.
In this unreal expanse, beneath the surface of reason, I search for meaning, for a sign that speaks to the core of my being. Perhaps I am not lost, but hidden, tucked away in the folds of a reality too vast to comprehend. My heart beats in rhythm with the silence, a metronome counting the moments of clarity among shadows.
These awakenings, ephemeral like morning mist, leave traces of light that dance upon my eyelids. I close them, just for a moment, and let the visions wash over me— memories of the past colliding with dreams of the future. There is beauty in this dance, a harmony of chaos and order that sings to the very essence of existence.