Was that sound ever known to me? The clock chimes yet I remain unbothered, swaying in the rapture of yesterday's undying glow. I swim—
—in pools of unfamiliarity, surrounded by faces hidden behind sheets of old newspaper, mashed souls transposed onto faded pages...
The dust danced then, like fireflies lost in the sun's grip—
A familiar tapestry weaves its way through time. Threads unspooling. This floor beneath relentless meets the porous breath of my footsteps:
Why does the shadow run as I write? Another echo, another déjà vu, another moment crafted from fragile slumber throbbing beneath the surface of yesterday.
And suddenly, mid-sentence, I see myself reflected in the sky inverted. A story untold, yet repeated, fragmented like shards of luminescence—