In the dim-lit alleys of our timeless existence, stark shadows come alive with secrets never spoken. Between these faint shimmering flows lie the lost conversations of nameless souls, adjusted gently on crystalline tongues, waiting for the wind. Their touch, ephemeral, waltzes like moths on dusk’s canvas... forgiving echoes of encrypted whispers still clinging to the walls.
“In our glass labyrinth, sometimes I see the horizon stretching downwards, unraveling the echo...”
“-Perhaps even the stars themselves whisper in hidden memories, lost yet traced on silver auroras.”