The unseen whisper of the echo, drifting through corridors of minds not yet imagined. Is reality but a mockery of our perceptions, a play paused mid-scene with actors unseen?
In the labyrinth, we chase shadows, every turn revealing a reflection. Do we recognize ourselves in these distorted faces, or are we ever-outside viewers of our own play?
Echoes bounce off the walls we build, reverberating truth masked by illusion. We construct mirages, intricate and beautiful, as if the unseen were meant to be seen.
Contemplate the mirror; not glass, but perception itself. What does it reflect when we have turned away?
The unseen, a paradox wrapped in riddles, whispers: to see is to be blind; to know is to forget.