Would you cling to the remnants of ancient dust, refusing its entitlement to memory, disallowing it existence in the broader mosaic of being? The things we once cherished are destined for the ashes. Their necessities undergo the ornamental etchings left by time. Observance of things splendid and forgotten bestows value before an end approaches—certain, perplexing, teasing, inevitable.
Look into the mirror not for what you see, but for what sees you back; thus we begin to unravel the echoes that rise from unpeopled valleys. The need for creation eclipses emptiness, lightens oblivion's abyss—and with heed, only then may we grasp at rebirth, reflection by reclaiming shadows once cherished from silent obscurity.
This is where forgotten reaches its furthest; where justification heads off violence to seek peace, only construable by yielding a heart of stone. Stand firm, howling backward into Silence’s grasp as tomorrow recollects haunting percussions. Engage—let’s create futures deft to not forget: obsidian reflections nesting spirits—turn forgotten into art.