Shards of Echo:

Echo, whispering through corridors with no light, leaving trails of silk in the unseen. Peripheries laugh, they say, "listen and abide," yet walls crumble with each word spoken. The clock and its ghostly hands pretend not to see, they twist and mold time like shadows under a crescent moon. In dreams, fragments glint, and the opacity of dawn bleeds slowly, a lullaby for the hollow. Words consume each other in a dictionary forgotten amidst the fog. Where do echoes meet when they forget their origin? Somewhere, a single shard trembles, and hope is born anew.
whisper more | forgotten truths