In the dim light where reality merges with the untold stories of framed seconds, shadows become canvases. We paint with whispers and echoes, crafting refrains and suspicions. Each shadow a tale, each shriek a reminder of presence past or presence yet to be understood. Underneath the skin of daylight, an undercurrent of unspoken truths is drowned in the fullness of routine.
Fractal patterns emerge in our thoughts, erasing edges, canceling differences. Often we wake, only to realize we have never left the dream. In the creases of this wakefulness, a shriek belongs to the forgotten past — one that never met a dawn, perhaps. Yet, we close our eyes to it, managing layers of consciousness within boundaries we dare not cross.
Breathless moments glimpsed at the periphery draw closer; shadows shift, the air thickens. We seek answers in the mundane, in the tactile earth we touch daily, where the scream of tomorrow tangles with the soft murmur of the today. Here, the world resembles itself but distorted — a familiar stranger in a mask of transient twilight.