The clock, its hands moving deliberately, becomes a witness, a keeper of time unshared. Memories emerge like mist, curling silently among shadows. The spaces between words sometimes speak louder than the utterances themselves.
Among echoes, I wander. In the stillness of breath — undisturbed. There lie remnants of conversations never held; a gallery of fragmented expressions stilled under layers of forgotten dust. These artifacts, once vibrant thoughts, remain dormant in the crevices of the mind.
What does it mean to fade into the collective void? Each person, a ghost in their own right. Are we defined by absence itself, or is there solace in solitude's embrace?
Survey the remains of once-thriving dreamscapes — all dulled to the monochrome of routine. Are they to be resurfaced, or left submerged in the rivers of yesterday?
Take a moment — breathe — experience the air that cradles this existence. An entombed thought may yet awaken in unexpected ways. They flourish when touched with light and tenderness.