The ticking clock mocked unsung musings that drift like ash in an autumn wind. I remember trying to capture words like fireflies—small, efefvescent shimmers holding momentary truth. Memories, once crisp, ebb away like whispers in moonlight...
Do you recall the rustle of old parchment as it unfurls, speaking only in hushed tones? Life was somewhere in there, wrapped tightly like a forgotten wine bottle seen through foggy retrospect.
Time furls edges of photographs a decay silkily collapses — your shadow took root no monument commands the heart with a thrumming voice of what's...
What was the voice saying again? There's translucence to it all. It's waiting at twilight where forgotten words hold confessions that never turn the corner yet always appear ready. Then, then... it all becomes unfurled and gone again,