In the webbed abysses of dusk, thought crystallizes, luminescent echo fragments pondering whence time drips like phosphorescent dew on a sleepless dawn. Helical dreams coil like soft whispers, curling into the interstitial space between seconds.
Light siphons through temporal portals, enveloping the uncanny macrocosm with ghostly brilliance; it becomes impossibly still as if the echo of laughter is a pinprick in the fabric of moments coalescing into a heartbeat.
What would become of choices if truth were an iridescent jellied orb, rolling absentmindedly across arachnid threads woven in clarity and chaos? Would it illuminate a maze of circumstantial entanglement, an abyss of oscillating corridors outlining tragedy.
Lost Moments