There remains a silence among the stars that echoes louder than the thunder of creation. In these voids, thoughts breathe without form—memories of what's been or what could have been, whispering faintly like shadows in the grove.
Fossils of yesteryears, driven into the depths, await scrutiny. Not of experts or finders, but of those willing to listen. What do these echoes say, as they stretch beyond understanding?
The void refuses to part with its secrets readily, yet those who peer through understand that echoes, though faint, carry the weight of eternity.
Consider the hare, pitilessly pursued, running beyond dusk. Do echoes not find themselves in the chase, hungry to recount the life left behind?
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