It is said that a shadow, once born, is a promise of absence; an impression left by the light's dance with the edges of reality. These narratives unfold not in vivid colors, but in whispers of time's relentless passage. Consider, if you will, the fabricated materials—steel and glass—that collect our shadows, casting them upon pavements now cracked and riddled with decay. Each reflection resonates not from a source, but from an echo of what once was.
Surfaces once smooth and planar now warp under the strain of unseen forces, seeking to reveal the hollowness behind the dazzling facades. Beneath the glow of fluorescent relics, one can find the incessant murmur of reflections telling tales too cryptic for clear comprehension. A statue in decay stands vigil, gazing upon itself with the irony of one who barely knows their name. Consider the ramifications of such reflections.