Frozen, yet moving. Thoughts tumble, like leaves in an infinite cycle. And you grasp at dreams, every fleeting wisp whispering tales of an unseen orchestra, realms echoing with distant harmonies that dissolve like sugar in hot tea.
Birds sing songs of ancient lore, voices reverberating against cloudy canvases. Did you hear the wailing of forgotten childhoods? The strings of solace barely grazed by the echoes of laughter once rich with depth, stapled to the chaotic fabric of time.
Here lies mislaid whispers; hearts of molten clockwork, faintly ticking, almost audible to those who dare listen—yet, elusive as the shadows portioned among twilight moons.
The sunset glows amber, fading; a melancholy sonnet dissolving beneath waves unseen, unraveling across the screen of existence, how easily we slip through the cracks.