Shutting doors with a soft touch, like whispers fading into the night. The sound echoes, but silence is the true closure.
A void sealed by layers of memories, less tangible yet more profound than brick or stone. The envelope waits.
Laughter carries through the corridor, then, abruptly, a drawn curtain swallows the sound.
Emptiness, overflowing, yet contained. A jar with no end, or a book with no beginning. The final page is merely a reflection.
Paths lead nowhere and everywhere. Choices constructed from shadows, paths untraveled parallel to those trodden.
In the distance, a quiet celebration of the unseen. Reconnect with Ruins
The shape of closure is not linear; it bends and curves, embracing what it cannot hold.
Gentle streams through valleys of isolation, knitting together fragile threads into fabric.
The lake mirrors the sky, a perfect illusion marred only by the breeze—a reminder of all things ephemeral.
Silence, once again profound, like the aftermath of a storm. The air carries the weight of whispered promises.