The hollow paths spiral beneath the surface of knowing, where whispers (chew at the seams) ripple like echoes unsure of their return. A shadow immerses, undeniable yet faded, tracing fingers over walls unmarked by time. The scent of forgotten lilac twirls within moments, wrapping around tendrils of thought abandoning form.
A conversation (did it happen here?) lingers, fragmented by the air, as if each word were suspended— a snare of syllables caught in the hollow. Footsteps echoed, reverberations lost amongst the decisive absence of presence, yet the labyrinth curbs not.
Lost faces swim in shadows softly, identities reshaping like driftwood carried on the edges of recollection, sublimated into pearls nested amidst memories—