Each echo carries a memory distilling silence into words. Whispers swirl in suspended time, companions on weary shoulders.
“Officer, may the pathway unveil,” once-reverberated fragments return, drifting through fog like fragmented timber on unknown rivers.
A paradox in uniforms, the camouflage faltering amidst a crowded sea of self-doubt. Visions hover above like feathered artifacts, hushed affirmations competing for clarity.
If they stir with the soft canter of night, chains clink, the deceased embrace collision—perhaps then they might remember, will they?
Peering into antiquity, wondering through massive turns of jagged time—a fleeting glance lives, breathing out words like unformed worries.
Returning to this dark place, shadows weave as a cotton wisp, where perceptions warp and splinter, a dance eternal under faces always under consideration. Judgement, a sepia dream.
Discover realms uncharted on fragments curious page-beacons, where desires echo less like a song and more like fractured hallways waiting to exhale in relief.
The pathways of cause in consequence; perhaps it was fleeting all along—somewhere stemmed dreams whisper towards you.