Within the maze of echoes, a melody contrary flows, through fingers made of glass.
Amongst forgotten whispering walls, she sings – a series of glitches in one's solitude. Silence isn't golden; instead, it's adorned with a cracked mask.
Dream in infinite loops, park benches whisper secrets of windows.
Lines dance in pairs, seeking the oddiosity – pulling, teetering, and tilting.
Optical bugs devour, unyielding mysteries.