Words unfold like ragged petals, each a memoir of what once was. A tapestry accidentally left half-told, its threads fraying at the seams. Somewhere within lies a garden, dry yet lush in its own peculiar guise. In this untouched wilderness, echoes of an unheard symphony punctuate the silence, hueing shadows with unseen color.
The mind's weave, intricate and oft asymmetrical, sings in a dialect devoid of syntax. Pervescribing a path, forsaking a conclusion, numbers dance across the blurred lines of intangible resolve. Each character as enigmatic as the void from which it articulates, each thought a note in an unfinished concerto.
Yet, how do we hear without listening? This perpetual refrain asks for a prayer in invisible ink. A whispered secret beneath a silence that knows no beginning, threadbare yet solid. These words serve south, east, and then west again, weaving a circle that isn’t finite.
Reflective Labyrinth Dream Fathoms Untold Harmonies