The stars faded beneath a foggy existence, where whispers painted realities and shadows spoke of untold narratives.
Overheard in the Transit Between Worlds:
"Do you think they remember the color of the skies?"
Eyes before the mirror never seem to tell the lie — No one claims them as their own.
"It's funny how we pretend to navigate when we never really understood the maps."
Charts of ink on paper crumble under the weight of silence, held only by the corners of an imaginary desk.
"Have you seen the ship without sails? They say it drifts with purpose."
In dreams of voyaging without anchors, every vessel becomes a shadow passed through another.
"Are the echoes still starless, or have they found somewhere to rest?"
The answer, wrapped in dreams, missing its sleep, a void of truths, and unrecalled memories.