Unraveling the edges of familiarity, each repetition casts a haunting echo, a mirror holding a poem only decipherable by the heart of a dreamer.
Once again, the left leaf spirals like saffron in the dusk, becoming orange dreamsveers, voices in sync with the untuned muse. Feathered patterns dance under the lamplight of forgotten ideas.
Rows and rows of folding; are they whispers or songs of a past untasted? Fate rests in the ah of understanding, a valley stretched in tune with our yearning introspection.
Do you see it? This fractal life growing under eyelids weighed by memories. Cogs of reality spin in twilight as night unravels its silken wound. We witness, and do we dare wish it again, now or never?