Fragmented thoughts drift, piercing through the veil of air.
Remnants of echoes linger in watery whispers, unraveling the tapestry of dreams.
A spark of ineffable recognition, lingering like residue on fingertips.
Is this the beginning or merely an illusion - a reflection in a passing droplet?
Each bubble, a moment suspended, unnoticed among the hues of time's canvas.
What whispers have you failed to heed, lost in the silence of the forgotten?
Retreating into sleepy corners, I ponder the shapes of amorphous ideas.
Will you chase them, or shall they dissolve like frosty breaths in the dawn?