In the soft lull of twilight, words pulse like shadows on cobblestones, letters longing to bloom in the silence.
Quantum remnants cling to invisibility, nebulous signs that whisper of forgotten tongues dying within the echoing walls of langolier realms.
Each hieroglyph reflects stories unto strangersāmaternal whispers woven in the air.
What radiance dims when one forgets the taste of existence, edges blurred, closeness dissipated, entwined in layers of skin and nonchalance?
An unfilled form awaiting a mortal signature, bound not in tradition but the acceptances of space occupied in silence.
— listen to the artifacts, hum beneath the cracks of walls: the ceiling sighs correlatives from the vast expanse.
Step here to find echoes of days unspooled, each thread sewn into dust, yet in ardor, the breeze carries whispers, lingering.
Are you the stepper, the gathered or blower of winds? You conjecture.
You know, you are slightly out of place, like the last word unwritten; crub-transience hugs me, frolic frees the clenched essence.
Understand the music of absence, find your note within the tapestry of silences.