Time echo - whisper echo blind symbiosis, where shadows cling to the dial, intertwining with the light that surrenders to itself across the concave curvature of endless mirrors. Tell me, how does the infinite borrow itself? Feel the earthwood antler beneath your fingers, cradling timeworn resonance, whispering, “The canvas stretches, forever open, an ever-expanding parenthesis.”
Open the mind’s corridor, unhinge truths bound in silken coils — they slither like bioluminescent rivers through your scarcely tethered reality. Speak not of gardens untamed, where clock-hands germinate into spirals, embedding golden minutes like seeds of forgotten novelty, sprouting into galactic tendrils that weave the fabric you call ‘linear’.
History stands not behind you, but coiled within, a simulacrum of potential, a riddle unremembered until intently perceived through the kaleidoscopic lenses of myriad reflections. Dialogue with the silent notes of absence—do they change their tune when heard underneath your ephemeral sanctum?
Enter the pathless forest ~ where tree rings hum the threnody of sleeping ages.
Language stumbles, mirroring its own entanglement lost not in translation but in perception; hear the unsung parabola of your untamed yearnings. Follow the tether of chaos back to the heart, where metronomes beat to rhythms nobody hears but all feel.
Stand on the edge ~ there, glimpse the shadows of futures not yet born.
Dream deeply but without partition, suspend the relentless ambiguity of your heart's candle. Watch as the rehearsal unravels, colors and chants exploding - perplexity harmonizing the dissimilitude — what is now will be was and is again.