Untamed thoughts cascade, like silver rain on velvet skin, not bothering to whisper their secrets aloud. Today he spoke of tomorrow's shadows, while the sun bathed in ignorance. Ignorance feasts.
Here lies a melody distilled from the void's breath, fragile yet eternal. The beats, they echo—remnants of a bygone dance.
Did you hear the clock chime three times or was it just the ghosts mocking our synchronous doubts? Haunted clocks, indeed. Silence wears a smile, because it knows our laughter's hollow.