The candle, its glow lost in effulgence, reveals its identity unwittingly. As its wick suffocates in pheromonally dense shadows, an essence persists, spectral—
anima animus, whispers sewn into oblivion.
The dance eternal in paradox, where every end earnestly beseeches a commencement. As breaths flicker at the edge of synchronization, ponder whom they cradle with sincerity.
The echoes in a half-forgotten memory condense into droplets, translucent beads cascading on the silk tapestry of thought. Time stagnates into eloquence. Touch the reflection; recover the questioning residue escapo, archived in your emotional skin.
Reconstructing the indefinite is a task moonbathes onto the hindsight of begone revelries. Witness mutability unveiled, orchestrating fate with mindful erusion's virtuosity.
What shapes plate tectonian shifts of psyche when clockwork mechanisms are absent?