Invisible threads pull at the fabric of forgotten yesterdays, spinning tapestries of bitter sweetness. Nostalgia bleeds in spectrums only discernible to the esoteric eye — echoes that sing a lullaby of shadows and fleeting light. Beneath the symphonic murmur of beneficial poisonous noise, the heart finds remnants of a life once tasted, an ocean absorbed by dry palms. Here, each fold of the mind's eye reveals a desert blooming backward, casting shadows where light only looks away. Listen closely, and you'll hear the chaotic harmonics that inspire the stars, a lattice of sounds both familiar and foreign, choruses of what is, what was, and what could have been — slipping, ever slipping through the sieve of now.