The cracked mirror reflects tentative smiles, shards scattered across the dull expanse, echoes hanging in the air, and constantly inflected, yet oddly harmonious sounds. Can you hear them? A lullaby constructed of disheveled nostalgia.
The heartbeats of petrichor linger among the blooms of knowledge, the in-breath of nothingness gripping the edge of possibility.
Spiders’ whispers weave tapestries of silk, each thread a step away from coherent expectation. What does logical mind dream when the stars are silent but humming? It drifts beyond stars, painting secrets in spirals, lost in their noise.
Tread softly; you are the haunting specter in this domain, perception draping over consciousness like autumn leaves, hues bending the specter of reality into warmth.