In the heart of inverses, timelines split and fold, like the unmade beds of forgotten mornings. An unnerving review shadows dancing on flickering screens, memories cycled through, lost & found et cetera.
Wires cross like ancient maps of places never explored. Reality bends, unbends. Voices (scalar) dissolving into static. One cannot trust the seams, once stitched, now unstitched.
Echoes of decisions loop, rinse repeat, the clock tick tocking in reverse, laughter behind closed doors, or was it crying?
Collapsing, the timeline missing itself, pieces scattered across dimensions. Who are you, and what did you forget?
Here, the review glitched, sparking pixels (arrhythmia) of past futures, everything is now, never was. Overlap at your own risk.