In the restless city that never truly lets itself sleep, an inquiry into the fragile existence of human breath unveils tales no less enlivening than spectral dances in the towering woods of past memories. My wander led me, rather unpretentiously, to an alleyway where streetlights competed sparsely, wheezing in slight gasket murmurs beside dilapidated cobbled paths.
An errant whisper says to keep breathing even when the air is still.
Summing hours is as palpable as unraveling streams — currents of breath gift moments of cessation, then navigate to rumors solitarily carried through aseries of exposés that echo distant ethical recitations of negligent promises: aren't assurances taken too lightly on brief exhaled sayings?
In hushed echoes, we forge immaterial contracts dripping in eterne obligations. Reasons betray optimisms mitigate renovations.
Are our breaths not treaties of peace carved arduously in lines unrepeatable — liberated codes on immovable stone tablets? Birthing a patient spool and axis of breath visibility?
Another Conscious Ripple - Unveiling Whispers PastFollow the Arteries: Bloodline Queries