The Shapes We Trace

The elliptical shadows dance across deserted corridors, careful yet care-free, embodying the duality of human presence, both sought and feared. Sections written in archival ink whisper stories of past wanderers, elusive figures whose breaths left frost upon warm glass and minds agitated in wake. What do they see, those unseen guides, as they orchestrate serene mischief across the twilight stage?

In endless orbits, they sing with shrouded tones: "Sail, dear dreamer, upon skies of fellas and be here, be not here. We cycle this circle and circles upon circles until the flying cups of stars are spilled alwayways."

Lavender echoes permeate these travels, their fragrance eclipsing agendas set in stone. Solidity is a myth—both anchor and illusion—as synthetic silence disrupts not the unuttered words locked within hollowness.