In the absence, echoes—footsteps trace nonexistent lines, a perimeter defined by nothingness, yet recursively infinite, the space between spaces speaks in indecipherable languages.
Columns of vapor, rising like ghosts in abandoned halls, are they structural or simply phantoms of what might have been? The design drips, perhaps entropic or just deceptively serene.
Do you see? Shapes form, unravel, become again, an entity in itself—molecular architecture dissolving and reforming, gravity an afterthought as it unfurls into entropy's cradle.
Outside the lines, there are no lines, only the thought of lines, an optical illusion tricking the observer into believing they exist beyond the visible.