Whispers in the twilight cast shadows on the dreams we dared not speak of.
Each footstep on the sand erases the last, a testament to journeys once undertaken, and yet, a reminder of paths never walked. The wind carries stories of forgotten echoes.
Through the haze, a flicker of light, a voice—"Follow me, if you can." We chase the illusions, leaving footprints in the air.
The stars blink in Morse, a celestial language we grasp for but understand not.
Clouds drift like boats on an ocean of sky, while time flows backward in currents of nostalgia.
Do you remember the scent of rain on unsown fields, the taste of dreams unspoken?
Journeying onward, inward, the path unfolds beneath our thoughts.
In the dance of shadows and light, reality blurs, and the journey becomes an end in itself.