To whisper in the ear of the cosmos, gentle sounds cascade along an invisible current, reminiscent of a butterfly's fragile flight — ephemeral, yet rippling through eternity.
Among the undulating shadows— footprints, yet unmarked by sun or rain, speak of paths walked by unseen wanderers. Did someone seek what they could not grasp?
In every echo, a reflection lies: truth stretched across the surface of illusion where corners collect forgotten sentences, awaiting a voice that may never rise.
The words, once profound, linger cloaked beneath the noise of yesterday's zephyrs— scattering, collating into wisps of thought and untold stories woven into the aether.
Who measures that quiet ascent, when whispered words ever weave into the larger fabric frayed by unseen hands? A fabric worn thin by tomorrow, a suddenly lost tapestry.
And now find solace in paths diverging—nameless paths
and touchstones unseen, unknowable futures
poised beyond perception.
Will we traverse them, shadows of ourselves?
Or do footprints lead nowhere to nowhere,
mapped in stars astray?