As the clock ticks, the margins of our existence bleed into the canvas of time:
doodles and sketches of what could have been, or perhaps, what should have been.
We adjust our focus, tracing the outlines of dreams loosely anchored in reality. Each stroke is a whisper, a fleeting thought, a reflection on dimensions outside the known.
Take a moment, breathe in the silence, let the echoes of yesterday's scribbles guide you:
Reflect on the moments that linger, beyond dimensions...