Beyond the Whispering Walls

Have you ever wondered why familiarity breeds in unfamiliar settings? The smell of ozone in April showers, or perhaps it was the clink of glass in a fading sunset. Each fragment overlaps, each moment echoes in the alien landscape.

A road lined with scattered petals invites a meeting, yet none appear. Only shadows linger longer than necessary, tracing routes we've never walked, winding through thoughts like ivy spirals in hidden corners of deserted houses. Yes, you've been here before, haven't you?

Sometimes, phrases linger, almost tangible. "The collector of fleeting dreams…." What does it mean? Wrapped in silver thread, binding suns to moons, eclipse to dawn. Collection of transient breaths carried by nocturnal winds, unseen yet profoundly known.

Decoherence dances in fractal patterns across a mirrored sky, where clouds replicate puddles and puddles are memories drowned in twilight's embrace. Stories unfurl from whispering leaves, tree-bark secrets penned ages past. Ah, but you know them, don’t you?

Feel the pulse behind the fabric of quicksilver nights. Let the dream stitch itself in the fabric of here, and now blues. Wander through until walls shift and whisper trails lead you to... Folded paper cranes in windowed halls echo soft footfalls.

A taste on the lip of recognition - sweet, somehow salty. Salted, perhaps, by the ocean you've never seen in daylight. Still, you sail on borrowed ships with borrowed stars, tracing charts made from constellations woven into your heartbeat.

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