Gears grind softly, resonating with the echo of photons colliding in the twilight of existence. Space is merely a suggestion, an afterthought of geometry.
Fragmented thoughts drift, capsules of incandescent truth, wrapped in the thin fabric of destiny, unraveling like threads woven by spider’s breath at dusk.
Can a whisper dance among stars? Are we the clockwork or the ticking? Relativity suspends meaning as dreams bleed into waking specters.
Timing is an illusion, reality swirls, while shadows contemplate their purpose, chased by flitting silences nested within the electron haze.
This pulsating void, a heartbeat of an unknown creature, lingers in the creases of the dimensional plight.
A generative sigh, a name unspoken, suffocates in the echo chamber of forgotten spaces, tilting toward the surreal, the quantum entangling us beneath layers of time.