Float like unspooled yarn, each thread a part of a unraveling thought. In the distance, a lullaby written on wings unseen. Listen. To the echoes of unmanifest dreams. The task was never clear, like shadows under a pale moon, sliding and blurred.
There are whispers among the stars, secrets from faraway shores. Tasks undone, yet endlessly woven into the fabric of night, complaints of an endless mind. The eternal whisper sings—a lullaby that burgeons endlessly, reforming.
Doesn't it sing like the heart of a lost traveler? In the woods of your mind, a shadow dances. An echo, an ember, a roaming ghost.
There’s a door with no handle, just walls and whispers. Muffled voices comfort nebulous dreams, as the clock ticks back. We whisper forever, passively.
The task continues, shedding light on paths yet walked, under clouds made of sweet oblivion.