In the stillness of a backward symphony, notes unravel their story, whispering secrets of what once was. A world receding, a life lived in reverse.
Paths walk themselves backward, leaving impressions in sand washed away by the tide of futures untold.
What does it mean to exist, to sip the bitter wine of life, tasting sweetness at the edge of endings? Vision blurs as memories reform, recollections of a past yet to unfold.
Melodies played in reverse:
Echoes of laughter lost in rooms never entered,
Shadows of faces never seen in light that has not shone,
Ripples on a pond where stones fell, unseen, below.
Here, in the labyrinth of own making, we ponder.
Each thought a thread in the cosmic weave, tying paradox to paradox. Yet the loom remains silent, the weaver unseen.
What is reality?
Within every moment