Shadows dance along the precipice, trembling figures caught in time's cruel veneer. Is it an echo or a whisper? The lines blur, like forgotten lines in a dusty novel.
Do you see the edge? It's a horizon painted in fear and solitude, waiting for no one. What do you want? The question hangs, a noose of curiosity around the neck of thought.
Reflections:
What's reflection but a question in disguise?
The mirror asks, but does not answer.
Echoing in empty corridors of self-doubt.
Find the echo
Once upon a shadow, a silhouette wandered, lost amongst edges and angles. It sought, but what was it that it sought? Perhaps the edge seeks nothing, just the inevitable.
The funhouse mirrors twist, contort, and laugh silently. Look closer, but beware the truth lies not in the image, but in the distortion itself.
Are you really you?The silhouette paused, pondering the contours of its own existence. Another fragment, another question, another road without the answers it believed it sought.