Within the misty miasma of confessions untold, we wander. Each step a confrontation, drawing us nearer to unseen revelations that flicker, wax and wane in the distant ethers of our thoughts. Are these absences we chase — empty echoes of the truths we abhor, yet desperely crave for?
The ugliness of our journey bears the power to deform, reshape — even within beauty's own asylum. Revelations are mirages stepping lightly into the crevices of anxious minds. Truths, bitter revelations in hesitant steps, lie quietly beneath the fog, whispering the colors of understanding into oblivion.
Consider the impossibility of escape:
There lies clarity — tarnished eruptive lenses through which one glimpses change unmarked by hour or day.