In the quagmire of moments, lunar echoes whisper forgotten tunes of eternity.
She sang, remnant notes trailing behind like the ghostly aftertaste of a comet's breath.
An ethereal merge where chronology became a painting deprived of a frame, brushing against time's edge, always slipping.
Yonder paradox rested in the heart of nomadic stars, cradling centuries in celestial arms.
A letter penned on autumn leaves returned from a Korean war that never was, buried beneath marshmallow clouds.
Do, re, me, notes that lingered like a melody existing before and after the string was plucked. Would you follow?
She believed in the cadence of constellation tides where every heartbeat raced towards a singular apocalypse.
Whisper of the sands forgotten on shifting dunes, and a lighthouse submerged.