In this quiet corner, I hear it again; the whisper of a shattered past, its echoes bouncing off the walls of time.
Glass cuts, both seen and unseen, litter the path I tread. Yet here I am, picking pieces, not to restore but to understand.
Over and over, the same story unfolds, like a record stuck on the same groove. I wake, I wander, I wonder.
Repeating cycles, unsung truths buried beneath the surface,
and all the while, the world spins, oblivious, relentless.
Step by step, I traverse this maze of memories,
where each shard reflects a moment, a choice, a chance never taken.
Like clockwork, the past unfurls, weaving intricate patterns in the fabric of my being.
Silence speaks louder than words, yet the refrain lingers, sweet and bitter.
Round and round, the wheel turns, a never-ending journey through fractured glass.