In the curling echoes of yesterday's symphony, the notes led their lives as shadows dance on candlelit walls — whispers held their breath to form a scarlet mist of thoughts. Sometimes it begins with a click, the clock spun backward, a countdown to obscurity, a leap into unfamiliar. Oh, the vowels see-saw across the dreamscape, rebounding off invisible barriers, where time and space divide like reluctant lovers.
Melodies played their roles in reverse, a bittersweet unraveling, unraveling, as consciousness encroaches softly. In the distance, a purple sky sways like a placated giant, and every heartbeat synchronizes with untold stories. Behind faceless muses, the trail of dragonflies weaves a tapestry of silk and surprise.
Beyond the horizon, where truths hide and glimmer, lies the passage to whispers forgotten in the folds of reality. A detour through labyrinths, where each twist recalls a part of the self unseen, untouched, untangled.
The eyes blink out reflections of past's future, north stars navigating the oceans of human psyche. Call it a dream, a resurrection of another time, or a hymn to departed youth sung backward at dusk.