Across the dim corridors of thought where intentions unravel in whispered echoes, the soles of phantom shoes leave silent tracings on the tapestry of discarded musings.

Shadows dance on the frayed edges of meaning, where the text bleeds into itself, an incoherent song that only night remembers, sung by choruses of unshed dreams.

A mirror reflects words—words that were never spoken— stretching and flattening under the weight of unseen hands caressing the edges of existence, teasing reality with the ghost of a touch.