Listening is a betrayal, isn't it? Like peering through a whisper's veil. She said the sound of longing echoes, carving paths in the dust of old decisions, touching what's left unsaid, what is shadowed in pale quartz light.
Desire wrapping itself tight like wires around tongues. Unsent. The ugliest truth severs soft connections, breaks them down smoothly. Every utterance, a fractured mirror reflecting some desperate bias, not beautiful, just honest in a sharp, relentless way.
Behind every breath, a story untold; not pretty, not heavy, just unanswered, floating. Movements taped, glued shut beneath layers of forgotten promises and echoes of a once brilliant symphony now void of meaning.
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Yet another rhythm unfolds, an unseen dance of fragments reverberating through corridors of stone and glass—a ghost, perhaps?