Twisting shadows, dancing upon the fringes of perception, weave their clandestine stories. A whisper echoed once, within the forgotten halls of the temporal stream, now etched as indiscernible glyphs — coded secrets of yore.
The clock's hands, a mere mirage upon the liquid sky, speak not of minutes, but of moments lost in reflection. Decipher the silence, for therein lies the truth of ages past, hidden in the amber glow of sunset's final sigh.
A tiny fragment, a universe within
The twisting anomalies of space
Echoes into the depths of time