In the dim light where certainty dissolves, whispers etch themselves into the edges of perception. Gaze not into the obscurity, for it reveals shadows painted with your absent touch.
Beyond the glass, where distortions echo the void. Here lies the reflection of a moment lost, seen only in the ripple of forgotten dreams.
Figures dance on the periphery, swathed in tones of gray. They beckon with fingers adorned in frost and breath enveloped in the sighs of old trees.
Does the mirror see what you cannot? Does it whisper truths, or mock with silence? In this chamber of solitude, the gleam of understanding slips like water between your fingers.
The luminescence of absence creates silhouettes of the self—phantoms that linger after the echo of footsteps fades, leaving only the imprint of when and where.