The dew sits silent on blades of grass; time encircles like a fingerprint—every edge smooth, yet eternally jagged.
An unlit mirror hides afternoon whispers—while the photograph of a family looms like fog over yesterday.
She spoke too quickly and they thought her mad. Her truth was stuck between grains of salt—yet somehow felt as if alive in the air.
Where sun meets shadow, count the heartbeats. And in the reflection of glass, love feels like a mantra, whispering through empty rooms.
Curiosity is merely tasting the edge of a sandwich while laughter dances in serial colors.
Paths wander through fields of paper shrouds; history shifts through glass eyes—what were we meant to catch and carry?