Whispers linger in the air, carrying forgotten melodies, the flutter of memories shedding their skin, spinning, looping, until they dissolve into echoes between breaths, ripple in a seeming stillness. Time tastes like sugar, yet seems to melt, and everything is here but nothing remains. The dance of shadows on walls, they never touch ground, light cascades only on the surface.
Once I saw words unspooling across the sky, twisting like tendrils of smoke, bending boundaries, as if reality was nothing more than an illusion - raw, unyielding, remorseless. The clock tricks us, spinning its hands in circles like laughter, like slips of silk. Here, and then, lost like feathers in a storm. The flicker of an eye captures eternity, never to return again.
Catch the bouncing ball if you can, or perhaps you can't...
Who dances? Who fumbles? Faces twirl, unfamiliar in a longing embrace, drowning in the echoes of laughter, a playful game of mischief, the rhythm like a heartbeat, pounding, distorting sound, feeling like raspberries, tastes like a dream, dissolving. Hollow voices tangle in the fabric, as if every look were a moment aiding existence, fleeting glances echoing, almost tangible- but never quite.
Explore the tension between grasp and release. Navigate the slips of time: Forget Me, Echoes of Time, Slipping Sand.