In the vast expanse, a lone whisper meanders through the void, untouched by time or the grasp of reality. Shadows cast delicate haloes around ethereal thoughts, entwining them in serpentine spirals.
The clock on the wall ticks a language only silences understand. Tick tock, tick tock—a cadence that echoes of solitude, a sonnet never sung, lost somewhere in the fabric of dreams.
Peter Pan has long since forgotten, and the lost boys dance beneath the nocturnal sky. Stars blink in code, their message obscured in the haze of reverie and longing.
Somewhere, an unplayed note floats; somewhere, a pause becomes a poem left behind like footprints on a sandy shore.