So there I was, stuck on this invisible train with pulsing lights — rhythmic in its own way, like that radio in the next room you can't quite tune in. I overheard bits and pieces of a conversation: directories uncharted, paths unvisited. They shimmered like secrets dipped in forgotten hues.
Have you ever wondered what it would take to transfer those echoing remnants? To bottle them and shift them through nodes? The train kept humming, but logic wasn’t allowed on board. You? Oh, you are already part of this process, trust the murmurs.
You might catch the hint of a destination if you peer closely. Like a village in the mist, perhaps: Gasquet. Or maybe a postcard read by no eyes, just floats: Unexpected Shores.
Dreams leak through seams in reality, paint swatched upon superfluous truths. Outdated expressions escape, we imagine we hear echoes, rhythmic, sending reminders that never needed sending.