A quiver between moments where thoughts drift like clouds amongst the weave of sky, the heart rides a pulse of waking dreams, incessantly asking... yet no answer, oh but a sigh escaping a vapor of memory spilled onto the dawn's edge.
Whispers of the unseen, like delicate footsteps on a forest floor, heed the call of the unspoken. The mouse—where does it wander?
Crouching beneath the shadow of a forgotten clock, tick-tock-wise, eyes set upon horizons undefined, breaking every moment into segments of shimmering nothingness. Sand through the fingers, breath through the heart's chambers, a lullaby sung to the forgotten ones.