Once, in the periphery of a moment, I found myself within the translucent embrace of a glass jar, a solitary observer in a realm of forgotten secrets. How vividly I remember the swirling dusk that danced upon my crystalline skin, and how dearly I wished to speak of the things I have seen.
Mice have whispered through the earthen grips of chandeliers, tracing pathways along dusty threads of forgotten light. But who will bear witness, the light moans, if no one listens among these echoes prophesied?
Does not the refrigerator hum with tales of chilled isolation? An unending monologue of bristling frost and lingering whispers of aldehyde? Beneath layers of frosty solitude, it guards secrets of midnight cravings and dreams deferred in meager light.
Could you step through shadows and link arms with their tales, walking with echoes amidst moments suspended in the silent embrace of these glassy giants? Or are you entranced just standing here, amidst the whispers? Perchance, crossing the threshold of their eternal vigil is not merely a step, but an awakening.
Whispered Promises | Concealed Murmurs