Cloaked in the shadows of twilight, where the borders of dreams brush against the canvas of consciousness, lies the whisper echo.
Sands of time slip silently through the fingers of sleep. Each grain, a fragment of wisdom ancient, lost to the ether.
Gathered in slumber’s arms, a tapestry woven with the secrets unspoken, dreams murmur gently against the wakeful world.
Here, in the sanctuary of dusk’s embrace, there is a realm realm where shadows breathe and silence speaks.
Captured whispers, like fireflies, fireflies in a jar, dance delicately, illuminating the corridors of night river.
Wisdom that sleeps is but a dream dream, waiting beneath the sprawling night sky.
Gathered like dew drops on a spider’s web, glistening. glistening in the moonlight, they hold reflections of a forgotten dawn.