✺ Whispers float...
In shadow's warm embrace,
A distant tram of time
rolls over dreams.
Beginnings bleed at the edges
As silence wraps around us
like a fragile moth collected.
What if sounds had homes
with wallpapers of wild symphonies
made of cotton, dust, and whispers?
Methods of time:
Interpolated gaps,
unheard orchestras
tethered within the folds.
We reach, we grasp,
but silence glides away,
like water through fingers.