Do you ever feel like memories are just smoke chasing after shadows? They swirl around, negotiations between moments that slip through your fingers.
Words are often just echoes in corridors we don't create. "Hey, did you see that wave of translucent moments?"
The clock ticks softly, and in the sputtering light of a fading bulb, reasons twiddle like restless fingers. It might feel normal, yet the truths dye themselves in blues never articulate and shadows catch you unaware.
What if you could tune into fragmented pitches?
Life fades in colors, watering down the taste of our selective manna...
I once got a postcard from reality that said, "Thanks for playing, better luck next time.": So let me not even forget to slip into this enchanting ennui!