A whisper traces its origin, where once, never began anew.
Forgotten echoes lay intricate webbed connections, paths of familiarity unfurling.

In the creases of time’s intention, a landing lost to intuition: A mirror distorts reality not reflecting, yet reproducing every moment stale and marked.
Colors bleed outside necessary lines, like repressed memories nestled within an ancient breath.

We clasp these entwined existences, held by gravity now unseen.
Riffles across surfaces fracture illusions, revealing translucence.
The drums beat an echo, not a cadence but a cycle.

Will we always, always, always remember not to remember this particular thought here today?

Paths: ../promises/when.html
Loops: ../shadows/dancing.html
Visions: theories/irised.html