Time pulls at the edges of our existence, weaving threads of memory into a tapestry too intricate to unravel.
The train whistles, a phantom echo of journeys not taken.
Colors fade in the silence of abandoned rooms, where every corner whispers secrets.
All that remains is the silhouette, an imprint left by the heart against a canvas of fleeting moments.
The faces in photographs smile, frozen in an unchanging embrace.
Link between now and then—do whispers carry weight?
And here, in the margins of our story, the undefined becomes the immutable.
Do shadows hold the truth? Perhaps—or perhaps they hide it.
Chasing that which cannot change, we find ourselves infinitely enmeshed in the now and then.