Everybody

The rain drizzles a metallic rhythm over slick pavement; each droplet murmers its secrets, gathering into creatures born of forgotten dreams. Shadows have taken root in every corner of the bustling human hive. Shuffling along the corridors of silence, they embody narratives slipping through the cracks where light concedes to darkness.

Rusted bikes lie mutely beneath layers of pale creeper vines; they are ghost ships beckoning to perilous thrift stores of the commonplace. Most of us hurry past, heads down, cataloging insignificance under battered umbrellas as whispers of forsaken states insinuate in laughter too high to touch.

“You see,” says the clock to no one, “Time is both an architect and a gravekeeper.”

The cicadas sing a porcelain lullaby; nature's voices hard-R restrictions–facing the decay of humanity turning inwards upon itself like a dream whose scenery dissolves into nothing but withered remains.

In parks, the sun spills gold, only for it to be shattered among enthusiasts armed with swift glances; they vanish like drops of ink against the pressing canvas of reality—lost amidst floating pixels of past conversations dissolving into static.
– Encounter more decay: Melting Dreams, – Unravel fragmented life: Silent Insurrections.