Once upon a fold of time, I felt a touch, delicate as a shadow on a clouded moon. It lingered—a phantom limb caressing the forgotten edges of reality.
Time drips from the clock, a molten trickle, carving channels in the fabric of yesterdays. Do you hear the echoes of laughter from stars that have yet to be born? Or the sigh of a celestial body collapsing inward, seeking solace in its own darkness?
Find the SymphonyIn dreams, they speak—a chorus of unseen specters, weaving narratives between the sinews of spacetime. I watch, I listen, as the stories untangle themselves, leaving mere hints in their wake: a glance, a gesture, a whisper.
What does it mean to remember something you have never known? To touch a face with fingers that can only grasp air? These are the questions only ghosts can answer, locked as they are in the eternal now, unfettered by the chains of linear time.
Trace the Origins