A clock without hands. Tick, tac. Time slips. Words unused, waiting. Silent echoes fill the air with poetry unspoken. The room dances in hues of pastels, shadows arched toward light—moonlit memory flickers.

Fade In: Whispers of unwritten reels. Characters, faceless yet known. A typewriter clacker’s shadow upon a nameless cast, strings weave through act and intermission. Was the protagonist real?

I am here, aren't I? I speak though no voice answers. Scripts lost between hours, thoughts as actors in chandeliers of indecision, twirling. Exhale words to the universe, once thrumming—now shadow.