Yesterday whispered in neon tongues, a cacophony of silence, where the mirrors saw more than the eyes ever could.
Once there was a thought wandering like a nomadic sea, tides of possibilities crashing upon the shores of waking dreams.
And there, among the reflections, a face—not mine—smiled with shadows, tracing paths through corridors of never-ending labyrinths.
Beyond the echo, where illusion becomes reality’s cousin, the world spirals inward, an infinite loop for the patient observer.