... vanishing signals, half-speaks, lingering residues that trace the melodic syllable of time; as history folds many ways...
Sound travels at the pace of familiarity, while the anchor withers; perceptibly unrepeated, phantasmal, muted fragments coalesce.
Cyclones of diction spiral towards elucidation, encapsulated yet splintered into myriad interpretations over shimmering resonance.
When whispers wave through epochs, what is rendered—what is remixed in the collective prescience of misconstructed echoes?
What dichotomy dances amidst repetition's call — assurance tethered to rupture in torrents unkind?