Once, an echo shrouded itself in pixelated warmth, cupping the stories unuttered since moments captured under time's relentless trench digger. A word, a phrase melted into the matrix of memory as a fossil does into stone; shared but forever outside, beholden to its own opacity. Here lies an undiscovered self - sentiments refracted through prisms of engagement past.
A spectrum of silence accompanied by whispers from ages ago, etching the unseen pathways in obsidian details. Is the pathway a metaphor after all? A faint geometrical sign of things left undesired echoing in human corridors -- the mind's mere facade, shadow passing mindless.
Follow the Echo