The curator's elbows rustle through dusty winds, echoing bug-eyed whispers of memories while fractal echoes quiver under fluorescent blossoms of nostalgia. Genesis of sweet emptiness spreads in whispers, cascades of dispersed verbs float upon the horizon. Nectar lingers like stale candy promised by phantasmal marionettes, toggling between boxes devoid of rhyme.
Footnotes unravel in convulsions, telling tales of the unspoken. Fractured dimensions seeps from creased paper cut trenches. Down, deeper into chimeric fictions, the restless motions unveil a landscape thick with wistful consternation.
In staccato silence, watch the shadows unfold. Are we mere pages in the Book of Lost Questions? Honey weaves its golden chain, binding loops of thoughts forgotten, exploratory whims flit whimsically as ants march, undefeated.