Echoes slip sibilant and sinewed through the night's inkwell, each reflection a fragment born anew, in twilight's embrace. What prism captures this luminal thought, cast adrift amidst waves eternal?
Passages of time, suspended like dust inside a beam of light— foreign, remembered, forgotten— each pulse a heartbeat, aching to transcend what's embroidered in shadow.
Turned pages whisper unspoken orders, archiving dreams slipped quietly under skin, where they ripple, congeal. A kaleidoscope in constant dance; unfixed, unattainable.
We invited ourselves here, into this mirrored orb of impression, soft refractile boundaries persuading us deeper. Forward, we push—towards the stains of dawn.