In this echoing chamber,
shadows form identities,
halfway between memory
and that which shall never be.
Here, pathways diverge and converge
like whispered destinies
sketched in the dust.
Look within the glance
that does not return,
and find the shadow
of possibility.
Information whirls in
holograms of thought,
vibrating at frequencies
unheard.
Could a lingering scent
ever define its source?