In the quiet corners of our memory, there lies a vanishing point: a moment suspended between now and the abyss of time’s relentless passage. Here, the distortion begins, melting the once vivid impressions into vague echoes, whispers of what was.
Imagine standing at the edge of a road, stretching infinitely into the horizon. Each step forward blurs the lines of what we've known, as new experiences distort the familiar landscape of our past. This is the melancholic dance of nostalgia—a tender ache for things lost or yet to come, shimmering just beyond the reach of our grasp.
Just as an artist distorts perspective to guide the viewer's eye, so does time bend our perception, curving around moments like light around a vanishing point. The distortions of memory are both cruel and kind, reshaping the heart’s canvas with each passing season.