What is the rhythm of the unspoken? Remember the scent of orange peels, an expanse of moments stolen between dusk and dawn. Do the shadows breathe? Nighttime whispers, fragmented glances - here, in the interstice...
Grids of the mind, structured chaos, tendrils of thoughts weaving like ivy climbing crumbling walls of a dreamsleeve...
...dreamer aloft on the fragile glimmer, tracing silhouettes of desires rolling like waves against the shore of reality...
This box, this space, igniting the questions unasked, folding memories into the nebulous silk of tomorrow's fabric...