Time wears thin, a whisper diluted over ether twilight. Once, there was a sound,
reverberating through corridors I recall being reclaimed by autumn. Citrus bursts,
odorous and delightful like echoes trapped in a looping amniotic web.
The lights flicker above, remnants of joy projected across vacant spaces.
We once knew why they danced, twinkling like the spun debris of celestial tales—
wearing formal masks, we attended a banquet for the ages.
Listen carefully, in absentia of winds the ghosts remember vibrations once common,
a symphony cradling sensibilities now marked out in forlorn typographies.
Separated by forgotten hours and misplaced minutes, do they still seek warmth where
river banks embrace shivering echoes of stars reaching back beyond dawn?
Past wakes abandoned script and mythology requiring breath and doubt to rise;
the cosmos composed in cryptic patterns remains unchanged as human ceaselessly...