My thoughts, like whispers of moonlight, quiver through the wind—linguistic feathers brushing the ear's edge, evanescing before articulation, glittering ephemeral light.
Within the crevices of one's consciousness lies a river, carving dreams from echoes, out of sync with the rhythms of waking life.
Every breath burgeons with significance, spiraling into silence, entwining the days with unfurling colors of distillation and dryness alike—the essence of reality collapsing.
Read more tales of quartz silence | Explore the chaotic agenda