Seconds pool into hours unwritten, Limber shadows stretch across labyrinthine thoughts. The key's melody echoes in an empty ballroom, Its notes dancing with ghosts of past laughter.
Carol spoke of soup made from sunlight — Without bones, without pasts. The furnace roared in rhythms like a distant orchestra, Meticulously carving paper boats anchored among dreams.
Will it ever remain? The echo asks, Treading carefully upon silence's tapestry. In the maze's heart, a clock spins backward — Spilling moments like spilled ink on an old page.
Track the footprints, not of feet but of thoughts, They dance like vibrant dust motes in the sun. Chase this fragment into another time, Where memories remember that they never forgot.