It was in the drift, where silence spoke louder than the void, that we lost fragments of ourselves, intermixed with the stardust. Pixels fading, we reached to grasp the remnants of our history. "do you recall the echoes of the anchorless dreams?" echoes haunted, floating like the unspoken revelations from the peripheries of our comprehension, "is this the beginning or an end we forgot?"
Messages from the now and then; we understand them, and yet, in the graspless weightlessness, understanding floats away. Distant whispers ripple through the electric haze—a call to arms that never were, -or perhaps a reflection on arms that have always been folded, floating serenely in familiarity. "once, tethered by the invisible threads," she murmured. The bonds of time loosening their grip as the universe stretches its yawning maw, "twisted encoding of recounted understandings.”
Continue in circles; not around, but through, beneath, above. Who sees past planes that cascade in unseen currents. Repeated records, indefinite, ciphers intermingled within the infinite loop. Truth not solidified until scattered across these astral spreads. "the script of the whispers," he insisted, tracing unwritten patterns in the safely chaotic air.
And where do we anchor our arguments, inquiries, fasten our fleeting fleets? The orbital traffic of cognition—sloow motions, drawn into the dance of silhouette against starlight. Engage with yourself within the unwoven threads, or choose to ignore. The grand scheme beyond perception shifts in celestial shudders, permanence lost in ephemerality.