Fragmented realities shimmer behind closed eyelids. An echo reaches across the dimensions, whispering, "Who are you whereas you stand?" A flickering of identities, ghosts in flesh—your double, your unborn.
Eyes meet shadows, a pool of reflections, where time pools and bends. The clock ticks, but do you hear? The rhythm of waiting...
The gravity is deceptive; thoughts drift like whispers of tangled emotions, spiraling upwards until lost among constellations, each voice a star flickering in the void.
Finding coherence among double negations, lost and found intertwining like vines—life compressing, folding into itself.
Imagine a postcard you never sent, fluttering like a silent scream, filled with declarations of dreams unspoken.