“Did you ever see them swirl, like lost echoes on the edge of dusk?”
The hum of the unspoken reverberates from thoughts once buried, prodding at sanity.
Are words the chains we can no longer remember, tethering the labored heart of shadows?
Fragments falling, like rain upon a brittle surface. Here lies the residue of our absences.
“I caught a glimpse of their wings in a mirrored silence.”
Time becomes a banner unfurled in stillness, a gallery of dreams glossed by reluctant light.
It was then, amid the static, that we realized: isolation wears a cloak of thoughts unshared.
“If dreams linger, do they remember us?”
The static crawls at the base of one's spine, melodies lost in translation to tactile sensations.
Link to forgotten scriptures: Fragments | A Cult of Voices