Shadows. They ~dance~ disappear as if alive whispered secrets into the very walls of this place, however, the walls hear nothing. Nothing but the murmur of regret echoing in fluorescent green.
The light - no, the glow is a constant presence, an old friend reminding you the subterranean warmth, your fingers trace the patterns, crystals of luminescence mark a point in time - elastic elastic time.
Pressed against the stony face, I close my eyes. They pulse, absorb - like subterranean hearts beating in quiet perfect synchrony, awaiting something - someone, anything to change the inevitable.
It is not loneliness, nor lightness of being. It is *in between*, as shadows slip like silk beneath fingertips, past the veil. The quiet hum of ambient light promising safety, security like a gentle luminescent fog laced through air - fragrance of nostalgia eulogizing the unvoiced.
What we conceal... everything cloaked in bioluminescent semi-truths dissolves into whispers. Secrets spoken as though km away, as though shrill electrons animated by rhythm of electricity ripple through stony augurs.
Looks around and what? Walls confess but nothing can be unconcealed. Strands of time in entropic chaos cease and cascade into moments unwritten - sculpting a memory into more than melody. It’s essence golden slips - fades concealed within an Emily frosted ether, diluted watercolors bleed as forgotten letters read.