the hall stretches endlessly, adorned with whispers, echoes murmuring through the cool embrace of shadow. footsteps reverberate
in a rhythm absent yet familiar like summer rain on pavement like the imagined sound of an unplayed song in the back of the mind
corridors of tomorrow’s fading dreams—arcs of light and dark interlace the precarious mindskape, flickering, oh what fleeting
moments secret shrouded in allure they spoke of a time unbent by the ticking clock yet clock is concept, it pulses anyways
walking forever walking or not moving at all suspended above the mundane, the clicking shoes tap into forgotten passages...
The air carries the scent of antiquity, not of dust but of stories untold—whispering void, echoed incidents, each link binds you to another shadowy realm of intangible significance. Doors open if we allow them to be real and real they might not, or should be opened only gently.
Consider the persisting question—shuttered views. Should one peer through where shadows dominate, where walls silently argue against light? Or persist in where light escapes definition? Rhetorical questions, echo millions forth.
Take a handful of rays, let them sift through fingers, arches of light, finer emissions trapping several passerby reflections only to realize no, tangible reflection remains a myth.
Traverse carefully, observer. Realizations await.