Raindrops tattoo the pavement, a symphony of fragmented memories glide on invisible strings. Do you hear the orange moon's laughter? Hands reaching, grasping the electric hum of forgotten echoes. Here lies the paradox of silence, where thoughts dance like fireflies igniting neon abysses.
The cat in the corner speaks Latin, while shadows exchange pleasantries. Breaths taste like lavender memories, a kaleidoscope of swirling era unrolled in folds of existence. “I once knew the secret of purple apples,” they said, with a twinkle in their starry eyes.
Follow the Voices | Chase the LightShall we ponder together? The moon is indescribably sweet, yet it tastes of graphite whispers and unseen fables that twirl on the tips of tongues we've lost. Close your eyes; will you find your name etched into the roots of a tree, an echo blooming in the aftermath of nothingness?