The morning whispered resigned confessions, as I brewed nostalgia with black coffee that tasted like voices filled with absence.
The facade of familiarity offered a simulacrum of understanding, yet echoed, emptily, in response to questions unheard but deeply pondered.
Memories faded like fragmented weft unraveling, colors bleeding into one another, shapes folding into recollections inherent in my absent grasp.
A cane remains unused, propped as a sentry, vigilant guardian of a spectral ache that visits with time, delineating borders unknown yet always charted.
Silhouettes, they rise as fluid impressions grounded in no firmament and swaying to the airs of whispered perceptions undecided.
Solitude sings in harmonics eclipsing conscious revelation. There, in the finer grains, I chart a trail through silt borne of my reflections.
Journey forward or return through passageway history or overturn the fabric within grand layered sites