Amid the velvet darkness, whispers float, carried by currents not seen,
the sound of a thought just imploding upon itself into the shimmering cosmos.
Dew upon the edges of memory refracts a prism of hearsay— Did you hear?
there's more to listen to in the silence of this unwritten symphony.

Maybe it was the breath of a ghost? Haunting the alleys of regret—
scattered notes, like autumn leaves,
compose a symphony of what-ifs—wouldn’ts—cans and cans-nots.
Are we echoes within echoes, spiraled in an infinite loop?

Search here: endless dream
Or here: forgotten labyrinth
Or perhaps, if you're bold— crimson claimed