The grain falls between our fingers, slipping away like fleeting memories, suggesting the weight of what we forget. Was it the day the sun painted the sky in hues of sorrow, or the moment laughter echoed through an empty hall?
We gather fragments, like shells from distant shores, wishing to make sense of the detritus that clings to our consciousness. A clown in a pristine suit once told a tale of distant stars that wore crowns of nostalgia.
Binding threads of existence, I remember the chaos of fleeting glances, of streets that led to nowhere and everywhere at once. Who were those faces blurred by time, and why do their expressions haunt my slumber?
What is it to feel the warmth of a sunbeam on a winter’s tease, and yet sense the chill of unlived dreams? An eternity of ”what ifs” sit heavy in the air, begging for recognition.
A melody from a bygone era drifts in, like the scent of rain on dry earth. Dance with it, or allow it to drown in the silence of a forgotten dialogue. Echoes speak; whispers beckon.
In the end, are we just shadows projected on a wall, shapes devoid of essence, parading the disquieted remnants of our existence? Each step forward sealed in sand, as ephemeral as the dusk settling outside.
Journey further into the unknown fractured memories or explore the empty whispers of the void.