In the realm where dreams pixelate and unravel, I find myself drifting. Glitches in the fabric whisper secrets of forgotten realities.
What is a dream but a canvas of the subconscious, painted in flickering pixels? Each fragment, a memory of stories untold, whispers through the void.
The light fades, and the echo of your voice lingers, a digital ghost caught in the web of my mind. Reflection upon reflection, we overlap, yet remain distant.
Silhouettes dance in the neon void, where every step distorts the ground of reality. This is not a dream; it is a glitch in the waking world, where I pause to ponder.
Echoes of yesterdays replay in loops, like corrupted tapes of time. Yet in the chaos, there is beauty—a mosaic of moments lost yet never forgotten.