Still corridors echo with dreams, fragments caught on the edge of fingertips which tremble with lost, remembered whispers of light.
Erase, rewind, relive, reshape, bring the fade back to color with nothing but grey words—lost histories escape through ironclad mirrors, as timeless rivers.
The world turns, doors reveal moments never known before, once abandoned eyes scatter in their desolation to bubble anew. Amidst twilight, faces forgotten grow clear and strange...
Timing clicks but spaces drift slowly, whispers act like notes in cages longing for the keys, unraveling silver scarves against the curdled sky where stars linger and lull.
The glass bleeds once more inwardly—breaking scripts rifling the order of worlds, clutching tides out of their slumber into the tide pools of memories. In here, secrets swell like oceans, hiding entire eras.
Beneath the turning mirrors, lands recede and fall; forgotten fields whisper back dated echoes...
Gaze into the perforated routes
The painted flow of stars leads to gravity anew in bold declarative.
Islands adrift in torrents unwatched.