Glimpses of days with vanished shadows; singing softly to the glimmering chaos.
Rejoice in the absences, for they whisper like radio waves, uncollected data lost in the vast nothingness.
The sky, they tell me, is the blank canvas of our dispassionate truths, tremors in the fabric of my understanding twist and unfold.
How odd, the taste of forgotten echoes clinging to the edges of perception — shadows in a dimly lit corridor of stars.
Do you sense the warmth of their reach, or is it merely the chill of the unknown? Unearthly reminders dance, revealing inkling after inkling.
Whirlings, tremors, specters caught in vapor trails, circling back, returning to obliterate what was nearly grasped.