Walking through mirrors of the self, the warped reflections stare back. An eye painted on infinite glass; they blink with different colors each time. A gasp, echo of the strangest you and me.
Reality bends as we gaze inwards, thoughts pouring out a never-ending corridor. A funhouse? Perhaps. Yet when did dreams start painting the floors of waking sanity?
When silence screams louder than thoughts themselves, light shards pierce confusion—glistening, ephemeral. Ambiguity as an old cloak wraps around the spirit. Are we yet aware we did venture beyond hope's passage? Explore thirty knots
Fearless in uncertainty: a statement barely whispered. Celestial carousel, we are every color it spins and none. Beyond the mirrors, serenades whisper unsung tunes to listening shadows. Enter the maze of dreams