Somewhere beneath the texture of the present lies a thin
woven tapestry, interlaced with fibers of forgotten narratives.
The stories echo quietly, absorbed into the silence of erasure,
only to murmur under the weight of time's passage.
Janna found herself lingering in the corridor of unwritten
futures, where the walls whispered palimpsest secrets of
erased ink. Which words lingered beneath the surface, she wondered,
and whose hands had first faded them into obscurity?
The truth: histories never truly vanish, they merely lay dormant,
waiting for the right moment to creep into consciousness once more.
Between the fibers of existence threads a delicate line: the distinction between memory and dream, between the imagined and the lived. Indistinct paths diverge and converge, entwining like strands of an ancient tapestry.
Perhaps these shadows speak too
Layers of the Unwritten
Scattered Traces