The interval pauses, seconds stretch like shadows at dusk, impossible to catch yet always seen.
In ticking silence, clocks dissolve; they no longer measure but pray with every tick for eternity.
You find yourself between whispers, in the realm of what could never be but always is.
Once, the parable of unseen echoes told benedictions in every forgotten corner of what it means to exist.
Listen— they say as winds carry fragile secrets from forgotten places, tethered by time and aeons.