Beneath the surface of twilight, they linger.
The stairs leading nowhere, now etched in twilight’s leaving glow.
Remnants of moments woven into the tapestry of the waking world.
Shadows of whispers chasing the light—inkblots on the paper of reality.
Here lies the echo of bureaucracy dismantled,
an account of all that was never meant to be understood.
Beyond the smudged horizon, a door opens towards echoing silence.
Where did these pathways emerge from?
Some riddles answered, others lost in echo and—
The whisper wind carries tales of leaves unturned. Dreams brushed aside, swallowed by sunlight's inevitable embrace.
Connections tangled in a web: Dream Paths, following echoes into aloneness. Patterns of Light guiding shadows, as they wander. Relaxed Whispers settle in the cracks of perception.
Remember the words once heard. They unravel in the intricacies of this web where time holds momentary dominion.