There exists a sound, a resonance—weightless like dreams slipping through fingers, laden with the taste of bittersweet nostalgia, a gentle echo in the corners of forgotten corridors.
Fragments of laughter linger in the air, elusive shadows of past selves; they dance on the precipice of silence, longing for recognition, an abstraction of existence.
In moments of stillness, reality collapses; the curtains between worlds unravel, revealing the unknown. Do you hear it? The distant chime of possibilities, whispering through time like prideful ghosts.
Every thread of thought weaves a tapestry of existence—a grand mosaic of fractured intentions, continually reconstructed, never complete. What lies beneath the surface? What stories remain unsaid?
The forgotten alleys of yearning echo questions: Who was I in that moment? What unformed dreams flew from the cusp of consciousness, lost in endless night?
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