Between the crumpled edges of shadows and light, there lies a tale untold...or perhaps, untold by one who wanders between dreams.
What whispers echo through the labyrinth of what could be, if not for the silent consent of reality's soft closure?
These whisperings hint at volumes of life lived half-realized, chapters pages unwritten, stories hidden under a fogged glass of introspection.
One may wonder, in solitude, what specters of self wander these undefined paths, seeing through eyes brightened by the existence of mystery.