Colors bleed into words, words fracture into prisms of forgotten moments: the echo of a voice lost in translation, the reverberation of distant thunder—time folding over like a tattered blanket.
Do kites dance on the invisible currents of thought? Who remembers the whispers beneath the sky where shadows collide—sending fragments cascading into ethereal streams?
Ribbons of intention misunderstood—lighthouses beckoning through mist—yet neither compass nor star shall guide those who wander beneath the canopy of our forgotten dreams.
Considerations spiral outward from the center: a forgotten rhyme, an unspoken promise lodged between heartbeats and the ticking of unseen clocks.
Paths diverge as echoes linger in twilight. Perhaps a message from the ionic currents forged long ago—an invitation to step through to the other side where more yet waits and where edges blur.
Links to Reality: