In moments of stillness, where the clock hesitates, thoughts weave between the threads of what is seen and what is felt. A gentle sliding of dreams against the reality fabric, whispering softly—a nonchalance so profound, it mirrors the universe's own.
Does the mirror remember what it reflects? In such murky moments, it seems the whisperings within the glass frame begin to coalesce into forms forgotten, names unspoken.
Everlasting echoes dance in silence. Time's shadow yawns, stretching illusion. A flickering dream passes through the veil.
Between the mundane and the mysterious, lies a path walked in whispers. Take a step, and you may find what was not seeking you at all, just there—at the corner of the beyond.