The horizon bleeds into the static, where frequencies overlap and unravel the woven fibers of reality. Each line on the electro-cardio graph of existence whispers the poetry of blurred landscapes. What is perceived? Listen closely and the world oscillates in unseen spectrums.
Are we not the echoes of distant signals, refracted through prisms of moments? In the cathedral of quietude, the static reverberates a truth only discernible to the dreamers. Reflections become the only windows, only mirrors, only shadows.
When paths converge into a singular noise, the vistas obscure themselves in an endless loop. And thus, the horizon speaks in friendly whispers of electric storms. Here, in the landscape of the untraveled, we find nightfall waiting in its cryptic embrace.