Wandering through fragmented echoes, there exists a ripple that rebounds off forgotten doors in a room that isn't truly there. Faces of pale mist drift across the Louisiana winds whispering bygone truths that were never understood.
Somewhere between momentary flashes and the eternity of faded light, lies a junction where decisions cease to matter. The clock ticks in reverse here, a metronome for the lost and longing. Questions hang suspended, waiting for answers like snowflakes craving touch that never arrives.
Celestial Conversation