In the shimmering echo of forgotten symphonies, voices drift like feathers in a tempest, whispers yearning to touch the golden skyline where day and night embrace in a wink. The confusion beckons softly, like a mercurial dance of uninhibited stars.
Electric dreams flicker here amongst the kaleidoscope of unsung verses, trapped melodies whispering through silver-hued corridors of time. The soliloquy shatters the crystal silence, a haunting lullaby lost in the folds of pages never turned.
Life is simply not a thing. It pulsates, a flickering neon sign atop a rusting diner. Indeed, it cradles the profound innocence of a child, exploring the ripe grasplessness of reality, futile as it may seem. Wishes that melt under the candid gaze of twilight.