In a labyrinth of forgotten words, the echoes linger. Whispered revelations draped in the soft nostalgia of a yesterday barely remembered yet intimately known. Do you feel it? The gentle pull of an unseen tide, murmuring with a voice that tastes like your grandmother's outdated perfume left unattended in the attic's embrace.
The invisible ink has faded, but traces remain—an impression on the soul that reads "a journey, no destination." Between these lines, the parliament of dreams convenes; decisions made in the flicker of candlelight, uncertain yet unequivocal.
The clock ticks, but not in the way one thinks; it measures moments of silence, confessions painted in colors not of this world. Here, empathy echoes in the corridors, a hollow sound that comforts the lonely presence of time.
Beyond the Canvas Harmonic Fugue