Whispers Under the enveloping Sky

In the chilling evening voids, as the last traces of gold fade into obscurity, the whispers find their flight. Soliloquies of the unseen are dancing across my thoughts, tracing lines in the soil of my mind.

The wind carries those echoes, some not heard in years—Echoes that sway like pendulums—timeless, persistent—carving their silhouettes beneath a sheen of invisible light.

Here, where words falter, the soul speaks. Here, where the heart's ink bleeds; the paper is the sky, and the stories untraced are all but transparent silhouettes.

Would you follow their course, mapless yet utterly directed by a compass you cannot see—a compass of scent and unseen gravity?

Unseen Memories Lost Echoes Reflections