In the shadow of the whispering pines, where the fog curls its silent fingers...
...an echo finds its way through, endless and hollow, a voice not spoken, yet known.
The walls of this room, this empty cathedral, hum with secrets untold.
Breath by breath, thought by thought, we weave a tapestry of what might be, of what vanishes into the mist...
Invisible hands trace the outlines of dreams that never were, in the flicker of forgotten lanterns.
Like the wind, they whisper stories of a place just beyond touch, where reality bends and contorts.
And here I stand, a solitary figure against the world, singing the hidden hymn of the lost.
The song reverberates, not in words but in the silence that follows each breath, in the spaces between thoughts.
Journey further into the echoes...Another tale waited in silence...