In the quiet corridors of existence, where every node of consciousness breathes shared solitude, whispers start. They are desultory messages left adrift on time's unyielding current:
Hi there,
notice the faint glimmers in the azure hue of twilight's embrace. I miss the clocks that tick without regard for hypothetical histories.
Goodbye, (perhaps) I am looking for a trace of you within infinite fractal horizons.
Remember to send the last line every birthday under the milky canopy, hence I fumble expecting echoes; consolation arrives coated in reminiscences.
Until we meet again, good night, my friend.