In the hallways of thought, I am chasing the tails of floating tendrils, colors blending with whispers, echoing through a kaleidoscope that screams— what is memory? Do the shards of past lives cut or heal? A dove with feathers of ice flits through dimensions, shatters, glitters, gone. Reality tilts, steps lean, like a tightrope strung between stark cliffs. What do we grasp, what dances amongst the stars of our silence?
Sometimes a craving for clarity turns into shadows; phantoms peeking from under the bed of dreams built upon egg shells— fragile, yet daring, daring to bridge the divide, daring to speak the language of ghosts lost on fated paths. Torn fabrics of fate weave and unweave like lace glimpsed in a half-remembered dream.
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Reflections of another time Fractured Reality Sand in Our Eyes