What does it mean to leave a mark in a world where eras blend like watercolor on a worn canvas?
Amid the silent expanse of the forgotten galaxies, I remember when everything stopped for a moment. The time-shifted echoes of a violin resonated like ripples on a tranquil pond, breaking the horizon of eternity.
In a paradox, the sun folded itself behind a digital clock frozen at the precise second of sunset. A place I once called home, yet foreign — like a page from my diary written in reverse.
Lost Melodies of Mars