Matrix Echoes

Upon touching grass after the rain, forgotten birthday cards flow through my subconscious—the smell of wilted lilies.

Mirrors reflecting distorted faces mimic laughter in crowded hallways, where time trips over its own sneakers.

Cracked sidewalks cling to abyssal secrets. What is a melody that feels like smooth sand slipping?

In red velvet salons of dreams, kindness shattered fragments reflects past loves on porcelain tables.

Raster images of irrevocable steps—grandma, under tepid light, threading doom with a view from her window alight.

Is longing just an echo accompanied by inky shadows or whispered adventures of unsent postcards left behind?