Whispers Beyond the Glass
In the dim glow of ticking twilight, reflections in the glass chain the soul. They whisper of passages not taken, roads alongside sepulchers, faces etched in rainwater memories. Each glance into the pane is a wordless conversation.
Would you recognize this stranger who wears your silhouette? Studies the mirage of you with eyes that speak echoes, pleading for some forgotten truth. Hands tremble against the glass, only to meet their own wraith-like doubles, dancing just outside reach.
Here, the air thickens, catching breath in frost-bitten webs. Let the mirror know your name, it murmurs— through your voice, it slows time, feeding on the nectar of silent conversations. But care must be taken not to dwell too long, for the glass has its own stories to tell.
Embrace the quiet shivers of self-discovery, for somewhere in this company of reflections lies the path to gentle ghosts, who hum ballads of yesterdays cloaked in amber dusk.