Like shadows in a labyrinth, forgotten paths lay veiled beneath the surface of waking tomorrows, strewn with echoes.
Dreams trickle like ink from the well; every mark a doorway folded, each line blood of unsent letters.
Over the ebb of crumpled clocks, thoughts collide, blurring margins of reason.
Vials of legacies waiting to burst, the alchemist's whims rejoicing in the nocturne of unmade mornings.
Consume this refrain, unravel the mice of memory. The tapestry bends yet never breaks.
Bathe in twilight's embrace and glimpse echoes of fragmented joy beneath oblivion’s whirlpool.
To abandon and rediscover, returning to weaving stars into the worn fabric of existence.