"In the labyrinth of air, the silence stretches, echoes bending light. Here, the ghosts of thoughts drift."
Consciousness murmurs in cyan veins, connecting me to an unseen constellation. Somewhere, a whisper blinks; it’s the thought of tomorrow, or was it yesterday's forgotten promise? The rhythm of breaths becomes a tide beneath the skin, pulling under and over, a soft riptide of dreams lining like waves on the shore.
The sky, oh, an infinite question mark, hovering patiently. I am not the answer but a single stellar point lost in its vast alphabet. Are syllables stars? Are sentences galaxies—conversing in potentia, seeking orbits among the letters?
Here, in this land, silence constructs bridges of soundless emotion. Each step forward, the whispering lintel speaks the language of shadows, etching outlines in the mist of perception.