At twilight's veil, I stood by the fractured edge of the universe, particles bursting like tiny stars, cascading whispers into my soul. Though time bent, I heard echoes flickering through ethereal dimensions.
Once, a plug of time slipped through the dandelion clock—a moment like 1973 poured forth, the laughter of children changing nothing as shadows leap across the gated centuries.
Such well-spoken desolation flows through threads, weaving tales of Iris whose hair drowns in ozone, descending into waters uncharted and unbothered. Oh! That flight of blue streaks through tranquil dust.
Between hope and memory lies the whispered silence of stone origami. A bond shaped through wraith-breathings, knitting seams of returning dreams—yesterday tilting into oblivion.
In the vast echoes of connection, we stretch through reflections of rustling atoms, darting paths unveil an adventure through harbors of joy, trailing like spools amid the unfurling fabric of chaos.