In the shadow of yesterday, whispers cling to my thoughts, spectral and unyielding. The corners of my mind are littered with fragments of forgotten dreams, visions of candles melting into night.
There it is again—the sensation of knowing. The fearsome intuition that tightens around reality, squeezing truth from the marrow of the forgotten.
A laugh echoes; the dissonance between past and present woven into the fabric of every breath I take.
And when the clock strikes thirteen, the forgotten song plays. A melody of remembrance, stitched together with the thread of time's regrets.
Standing on the precipice of memory's chasm, I peer into the depths. There is comfort in the abyss—a guardian to the lost and the mourned, if only I dare to leap.