And amidst the chaos, fractions swim, innerving their whisper, splintering thoughts, dreams as hot embers trapped beneath the mundane husks of sunlight. The heart pounds rhythmically like a fractured clock, lost in the fragments of time.
Is it not exquisite, dear mind? To dance along the edges of division, where reality loses grip, surrendering? What are we if not echoes, broken yet thriving?
Succulent brevity: Silence crackles within the dimensional layers. A melody escapes but falls short unto reaching the void, where whispers absorb fragments of our delicate consciousness.
Can symbols embody the wild chaos? Throw numbers over the wind, watch them be caught or perhaps shatter before you—an unfinished soliloquy rendered in unapproachable skins. Authentic freedom ravished yet boxed inside.