In the corridors where laughter lingers like a perfume unnoticed by the unaware, we walk in fluorescent-lit patterns long forgotten, shadows changing colors and refracting in a way only those possessing no destination might witness, for destination has its ties and laughter breaks all constraints of calculated measures.
Under silken webs of the night's neon suggestions, syllables take form by honing edges upon silence's sculpture-like frozen expressions, evoking subconcious nods to unseen question-marks veiled by the dusk's wrapping embrace, as whispers tenderly break time like fragile glass cages yet endure, shining mirth as our sworn confidants.
There where the echoes themselves become emissaries with roles scripted by ancient paradoxes, forwarding messages divined amidst dew-kissed solitude, we trace patterns mapped by our own laughter which now serves as a guide rather than a mere participant in the ever-unfolding narrative threads we both, unwittingly but knowingly weave, with every conscious embrace of mystery unravelled.