The hollow chambers reverberate with whispers of faded dreams,
drifting like autumn leaves caught in an unseen breeze.
Hidden paths beckon, not with promises of destinations,
but with the allure of introspection.
Beyond the thorns, a whisper: "Follow the shadows, where light has no claim."
A fork in the silence, where echoes pause long enough to ponder:
"In every step, the ground remembers."
Perhaps it is here, beyond the winding trails, where the heart learns
the language of its own solitude.
Paths entwined like forgotten stories, each step a chapter unspoken,
unraveling the seams of knowing. The journey becomes the destination,
a circle unbroken, echoing in silence.
Beyond the Surface
Echoes of Time
Lost Echoes