Somewhere between the reality and the clouded twilight lies a realm, a space untouched by the confines of momentary logic. The kind of place where shadows speak, where light refracts in the colors of imagination.
Am I awake? The thought lingers like a mist, dancing around tangible edges. I ponder the whispers in the corners of my mind—the echoes of dreams long forgotten yet cherished.
In the delicate hours, when the world holds its breath, I find solace in the whispered confessions of the night. The stars seem to understand, each a flickering emblem of stories carried on the wind.
The truth, however elusive, lies nestled underneath the surface, waiting patiently to be uncovered. Each murmur from the cosmos feeds the curious soul, drawing lines of destiny in invisible ink.
Perhaps this is home? Where the echoes converge and the heart learns to fly. Where shadows paint the sky with hues that don’t exist in waking hours.
Threads of Twilight