Drifting on the edge of twilight, shadows whisper secrets, twisting around unwritten pages. Time dissolves into shades of amber, and the echo of laughter haunts between the lines. As if reality were a dream coaxed into existence, dandelion fluff casting wishes into the ether.
A kettle sings in an empty room, the steam curling like ghostly fingers. Recipes of yesterday lose meaning as tomorrow stretches into a question mark. The clockâa portal trapped in a chase, hands spinning, yet the heart does not beat in sync. It sings.
Screams of the mundane claw at my consciousness. Broken shards of conversations stutter in the space where thoughts should race. Do you remember the smell of rain? It steeps the air in nostalgia, a warmth mingled with the sharp bite of dark chocolate dreams.
Somewhere, water sloshes in a tin can. Each droplet an echo back to existence, to something tangible, or maybe just an illusion cloaked in filament strands of memories. Lost between pages and breaths, here, always here.