In the corridors of forgotten time,
whispers linger like the scent of rain on dust,
traces of footsteps that never left a mark,
voices held in the web of silence.
"In the end, we are echoes..."
What remains when the memory fades,
but the shadow of a thought, resting upon
the edge of the universe, waiting to be born
anew in the mind of a dreamer?
"To remember is to lose."
The stories untold, they weave themselves
through the fabric of existence,
a tapestry of mysteries woven
with threads of light and darkness.
"Lost, yet found in the folds of the void."