I found myself adrift on the feathered current of memory this morn, where the past parleys softly
with existence. Dampened echoes lingered — faint skims across the silken glide of whispers,
as they reached the distant musings of a forgotten realm.
Here, in this solitudescape, the water cradles obsidian moonlight, & the secrets grew roots
into the soft banks of melancholy & nostalgia. Shadows spoke in hushed, tender tones,
recollecting tales of daylight long turned to shadowplay.
Gentle roll of quiet lapping waves and motes dancing in retreating gold — forging a boat,
of long-forgotten unarticulated thoughts, as it draws nearer. With yearning hands stretched,
the interaction becomes external—a bridge to what's anticipated yet veiled.
Soft parchment crinkles in my grasp, remnants of permanence now transient. Four ghostly figures
standing uncannily where time frays, unveil the landscape unbenown, thro' the peripheral voyage.
Silence listens in earnest—lingering at the cusp where memory meets oblivion. Where does one conversation end,
and the other carry across unexplored silted paths?