In the labyrinth of minutes, ghosts of memories linger, entwined in the neon-flash darkness. The past unravels, stitching seams of forgotten laughter with the tendrils of sorrowful echoes. What is this hour that devours like a cosmic raven, with talons dipped in dreams of yesterday?
The ticking clock melts, a Salvadoran trickster guffawing amidst delusion; here, reality diverges. Once the everyday was a linear stream, now it ebbs, a whispered paradox whispering “navigate the nowhere.” Brief glimpses sharp as obsidian present themselves, hidden behind curtains made of fleeting timeframes.
Something lurks in the footnotes of hours, an entity stretching through parallels; it knows the color of the moments you sealed away. Beware, for its shadows lengthen, and your intuition trembles with an unspoken truth.
Is it too late, or too early? The boundaries blur, tangled like forgotten cables in the void. Shall we unravel it? Find your way through the ephemeral dreams or surrender to the fractured memories that play in the theatre of your mind?