Rivulets of forgotten color slip past tangible notions, a door remains yawning on the threshold of fading thought. Above, the murmuring echoes of palimpsests unspool, "once was" become "never."
In whispered tones through the corridor of mirrors, we find histories that lick their own tails, erasing the traces only to leave those of shadow and light behind. This room, unfinished, breathes with pasts that almost were.
Who turned the doorknob? Who left the whispering door ajar? Chase echoes or trace outlines, where decisions rust in gilded solitude.
Somewhere in the margins, histories clamor silently, voids punctuated by furrowed galaxies. Sail the prismed waves and vanish where the stars remember your name faintly.
The axis dissolves harmless smiles atop quill-penned regimes as the last embody ephemeral echoes of enchanted queries.
Clasp your answer in the fingertips of dusk. Recall the unsaid, or simply let it be, like a leaf falling to an unheard wind.