Beneath the expansive vault of an ethereal metaphor, thoughts linger as droplets upon the verdant leaf—held, yet never falling. In the amber of time's passage, whispers of understanding yield reflection over revelation.
Are we not all the canopy, sheltering dreams vulnerable to the sky's embrace? Each thought a web spun by unseen arachnids, interwoven in fate’s indigo silk—strands delicate, yet enduring in their frailty.
The stoplight haunts vivid canopy thresholds where green prescribes wanderlust and red languor. At times, suspended thoughts pulsate with existence between the dichotomy of acceptance and aspiration.
whisper out | hold fast | listen deeper