In the alleys of vermilion dreams, shadows dance like undisciplined children, singing to the moonless night.
A reflection of whispered chaos, “They are all we see, lost in the void,” flood the senses, throbbing like the distended silence after a storm.
Do you remember that time when clocks melted beneath the weight of forgotten seconds? We laughed until we vanished among the echoes, tasting the copper strands of reality.
Dirty words scribbled in a hallway: "Is there elegance in decay? I ponder." A passerby nods, confused, smiling at the ceiling which drips existential dread.
What is an echo if not a fading scream? Reflections respond with silence, yet here we hold the lens to see nothing but the silhouettes of ourselves.
One scattered thought: "Find joy in the absent," it taunts as I absorb the weight of shadows cloaked in moonlight.