In the hushed silence of the cosmos, where thoughts become shadows, there lie channels wrapped in the veil of sleep.
Here, whispers of yesterday's dreams echo, fading like mist in the morning sun. They speak of forgotten worlds, where time pauses.
Where
Where nothing but the mind's wheel turns.
Can you hear them? Dream remnants that once felt profound, now mere ripples in the sea of consciousness.
Among the whispers, one murmurs: "We are the echoes of ourselves, the shadows of what was, in a dream not fully awake."
The whispers travel, seeking ears that remember how to listen. Do you remember the art of hearing?
Manifestation