Strange times, these twilight sunsetting strolls beneath alien canopies. Underneath the violet hues and fern whispers, do you ever stop to think – "Why am I tangoing with foreign tides?"
I'm here, every step whispering in the sands that barely feel like sand. There's a soft glow underneath these surf-tread paths, almost as if stars had lost their way and decided to descend into shells.
It’s a world where heights know no ceilings and blues are postcards sent too long ago... and maybe that’s why they're so dream-like. The tropic sway is maddeningly calm, and the dull day-to-night shift melts together seamlessly.
Hey, ever wondered what an orb of misted halos might taste like? Kind of like gossamer, light and air, drifting bubbles perfumed with the scent of ancient mars. Does that ring a bell?
And the palms, standing sentry like awkward dancers at a gala too mystical for its own good, everything here waiting with bated breath. Listen in and find out why.
But you, you just walk. We walk. Together and apart, step by calming step, as if imprinting truths with the echo of mismatched heartbeats.