It's when the oceans breathe in shadowed whispers, haunted remnants of past lives glistening like cherished illusions. Silver luminescence drips down, pooling into night where stories unfurl. You grasp at the edges of forgotten truths until the scent of lilacs fade.
Voices not speaking but shifting in waves as memory and time break, bend, dissolve. The room spins gently, a merry-go-round captured in oblivion. A cardboard moth flutters against the lampshade. And there you find it, a threaded dance of pine needles beneath translucent rain; regression murmurs through pink noise, cascading threads that patch silent tears into vivid hues of chromatic expressions.
Yet, the dreamscape calls again, inviting you to wander. Stars arranged against an azure canvas compose melodies tacitly understood. The small webs of lines connect, reveal little but the twine of becoming. Follow these shattered echoes, not pieces but wholes undone and resealed into oblivion of now.