The chandelier flickered as she spoke; the words lingered in the damp evening air like smoke
yet were they truly spoken, or mere echoes of secret thoughts?
In the old emptiness, where no horizon knows dawn,
His gaze fell through cracked windows, touching the outside world without comprehension,
the room where shadows weave between floorboards and ceiling beams...
The clock ticks without sound, winding up its loop, encompassing moments that never were ours,
Yours or mine — mere placeholders in the grand deviation...
Within this domain of diliquer recollections, a key resides amid wayward wordings. Not yet found is the truth—wrapped in strings of paradoxes and forgotten mementoes. To unlock the passage past shadowed thresholds, whisper its orientation silently to the wind...
Return to where light falters.