Somewhere in the folds of thought, a whisper traces the edges of forgotten dimensions. Silhouettes wander wistfully, born from shadows that elude the ordinary gaze.
In these lines, time draws breath, and every pause becomes an echo, rippling through silk threads of reality, threads unseen, woven in the light of quiescence.
We stand at this border, thinking of worlds with colors yet unnamed, chasing specters of muted memories, caught in an unseen tapestry, woven while we intricately stare elsewhere.