Reality is but a thin veil lifted by the murmurs of night. The clock ticks, but its sound is absorbed by the starlit void. Am I awake, or is it the dream that sways me?
Fingers trace the lines of an imagined map, leading nowhere yet everywhere. It's the cadence of your heart that echoes this message, through the corridors of space and time.
"Who are you?" she asked, eyes wide, reflecting the pale gleam of a neon dream. And he, spinning tales lost to the winds of yesteryears, simply smiled.
One step forward, two steps back. The rhythm is erratic, maybe a dance—or a divine mischief? Clouds swirl, forming faces that once were, now nothing more than phantom creeds.
The past bleeds into the present, like watercolor yet forgotten in the rain. Each droplet a moment, each moment a universe collapsing inward.
And as the dawn threatens to break—an illusion, too, of hope—a flicker of the eternal arc dances at the edge of your vision.
Hear me now, or hear me never, for voices tie themselves to electric dreams, cascading like forgotten laughter.