The clock's hands quiver on the verge of murmuring secrets long entombed in the space between seconds. You pause—do you hear that? A soundless echo pulsates, pressing the weight of unremembered time into your mind like a forgotten lullaby. The air is thick with the taste of anticipation, a luminescent sigh escaping the crevice of your soul.
Stolen moments shatter across the floor, scattering fragments of other lives—words unworn and whispers unheard. You step through them, bare feet kissing the cool shards of memories not your own: echoes of abandoned kitchens, laughter leaking through cracks, shadows of faces glimpsed only in dreams. Are they your dreams, now, or pull from an abyss where time loops in a tapestry undone?
Somewhere, a door creaks open in the distance, spilling—what? More echoes or reveries waiting to be born? You follow, compelled to trace the hidden trails of the past. It pulls you, the hum of the forgotten, the tether of the untold. A shimmering thread connects past to present, weaving in and out through corridors of elusive now/here/then.
Lost among the folds of time, you wonder who else has wandered this path, hands brushing against the antiquity of the air. Whispers coil around you, a soft embrace, swaddling you in their intimate mystery. Your own voice joins the chorus—the syllables spin, dissonant yet harmonious, in the grand melody of absences.
And then—silence? No, that's a breeze passing through the fabric of your senses. Allow it to wash over you. Find solace in the unseen, or maybe trace your steps back, to where it all began, before the whispers found you among the clefts in time.
Dreams carved in the ash of fleeting thoughts linger just beyond reach, caught in a moment folding in on itself, inviting yet elusive. Follow the drifting stars, or perhaps linger here a while longer, where the void breathes softly.