In the spectral trace of yesterdays, where silent echoes dance among the aurora, lies a truth unseen. A claw of vaporous gossamer grazes my being, and in that touch, I understand the language of the forgotten atoms.
With each breath, a symphony of phantom limbs emerges; they grasp at the unheard, reflect upon the felt but unseen. Beneath their melodic gesturing, is an endless loop where the beginning is always a return.
The luminous fantasies that paint the skies speak not in words but in the shimmer of their light, reflecting epiphanies caught in time's cascading veil. You find yourself listening even when silence reigns.
Nothingness Speaks — therein lies the riddle you once denied.
Conversations with a Silhouette — when the light flickers, shadows whisper truth.
Search for your blind spine.