In the interstice between what was and what could be, there lies a tapestry of whispers. Time, sometimes slipping, draws fragmented memories upon the canvas of dusk. Each breath ekes out patterns—a dance of shadow and light. Observe, as the universe doodles in the margins...
Floating Thoughts:
1. "The antithesis of dreams."
2. Unsaid words bloom like morning mist.
3. Lines scribbled hastily upon a forgotten page...