Eyes turned inward, fabric of reality unraveling, thread by thread; pearlescent strings gleaming like forgotten dreams.
The click of a clock — each tick pulling the fabric tighter, then ever so slightly loosening; a dance of precise chaos. Flashes of what could be and what may never return.
Mosaic of scattered flames, splatterings across the midnight sky, pieces taped together with invisible intentions and loose memories echoing in empty corridors.
Behind each corner lurks a question undetermined: what was forgotten? Returning only to tether into nothingness creatures of abstract expressions curling in the gloom.
Nobody sees the stars when time folds upon itself; dimensions twist away unnoticed shapes; whispers caught in glassy fragments inviting you deeper.