Ever find yourself saying the same thing over and over? Like a record that's just a bit scratched, a bit broken? "Silence," you say, but the word echoes back, echoes again, echoes still. And you wonder, is it really silence if it keeps saying your name? Ever repeated, ever spoken, always missed. Repeating, repeating, repeating...
"Did you hear that?" you ask, but the asking is part of the loop. The conversation spins around like a carousel of muted voices. Again, you ask. Again, they say. But where are they? Anywhere, everywhere, in every corner of the room that seems just a bit too bright, too quiet.
"We'll get there," you assure, though the assurance is hollow, echoing in the spaces between words. The path is clear, or so it seems. Clear like water, clear like thought, clear like fog at dawn that only wraps around, not through, not with, just around.
Whispers in the Wind Faded Memory Soft Reminder