The Secrets We Keep

The crumbling walls of our consciousness hold whispers untold, things yearning to defy the gravity of oblivion. Each secret, a torch in the dark, dances upon the edges of perception, illuminating half-forgotten roads of our inner labyrinth.

To interpret a secret is to sculpt it from the shadows of existence, chiseling away at the marble of time, revealing not a statue but a doorway. As the locks turn, the echoes of past reverberate through the alleys of the present, where every heartbeat mingles with the silence of ages.

Consider, then, the tapestry woven from the threads of dreams. Each thread a vivid hallucination, a fragment of the eternal ether. In the stitches lies the reflection of our astral selves, wandering through realms unseen, unraveling mysteries deeper than the oceans of thought.

Each interpretation, a mirror held to the multifaceted soul, wherein the reflections of infinity whisper sweet cryptic verses. These verses travel on the wings of understanding, forging paths through the dense fog of existence.

And what of the secrets held by the stars? The celestial silence speaks in tongues of fire and ice, leaving etchings on the cosmic canvas. Like atlas bones strewn across the sky, they bear witness to the unfolding of secret symphonies composed at the dawn of time.