The tea kettle whistled one last time, echoing through the marble hallways of forgotten dreams where whispers of yesterday entwine with patterns unfolding, kaleidoscopes of murmured musings, lost chapters unwritten like sentences wandering the edges of hellos.
There, amidst the tangled webs of time, spirals reflected spun our tales, weaving spirals in a lattice, where every strand beckoned memories that shimmer like glassy-eyed specters hidden in plain sight, waiting for suns to sink beneath old curtains. Each day carries hope like sand slipping in hourglasses that pay no attention.
Every breath draws from the landscape of the ethereal—one’s existence a blurring brushstroke on the canvas of now. The color bleeds, crimson and cobalt, distorting reality, pulling at threads that come alive in the dark spots of the navigation to nowhere. A clock ticks backwards reflecting chaos woven into quiet sighs, are they dreams or simply echoes from forgotten realms?
Tap into the unfulfilled, sense hidden patterns, snippets that whisper, unraveling the delicacies.
The blue door in the woods opens to nothingness, a paradox singing lullabies to selves untold, grasping those flickers like fireflies chased at dusk into the birth of silence.
Right before dreaming, right before the fall—a dive into chaos beyond the veil. The walls painted in decimals—can you taste their sweetness? Etched in absence, I tell you tales reeking of baked regrets and saffron memory shrouded in rebellion.
Here at the monumental junction of him, her, us, a wish made real—an absent breeze flows through time, reflecting mirrors of forgotten selves, kindred spirits swirling in the chromatic play.