The clock melts backwards, hours pouring into a puddle of whispers. Somewhere, the scent of burnt stars hovers.
As footsteps imprint silence on a canvas of lost echoes, cobwebs cling like forgotten promises. Was it wind, or a phantom’s wail?
Behold the luminous fury of enigma, where minds twist like vines over the barren estate of sanity. Are you the feather, or the match?
A reality sucking its hemlock kiss—where shadows giggle, and anguish grasps like a childhood memory of blue.
Embrace the iridescent void, shrouded in half-secrets or merely smoke wrapped in dreams.
What if laughter is the only brush that paints destiny? Gaze away, then gaze again.
Time divided into fragments, spiraling into a world that has fleeting moments, yet profound infinities hidden behind shadows.