Beyond the tangible touch, whispers of forgotten shadows replay murmurs never spoken. Each claw of perception unpeels, revealing phantom traces against the skin that is not there.
Murmers ascend from below, the ascent of echoes in endless spirals. They cling to dreams as a moth to flame, yet never burn. Inside the corridors of thoughtless reverie, corridors embrace the empty spaces, secret places that converse with silence.
When light retracts to just a sliver, the twilight recalls lost languages that fall like snow, gently coating the bare trees of past recognition.