Sometimes I hear whispers in the walls.
Can you remember the taste of sunlight filtered through blueberry?
Moments fade like forgotten receipts, all held together by sheer will.
Telepathy, they said, is nothing but a figment...
Thoughts collide in spirals, drowning in moonlight dreams.
Did you hear that? A thousand voices blended in pristine disarray.
Tomorrow, perhaps, you will not know what you wished for.
Pieces of listening scatter, assembling puzzles with edges frayed.
Can connection thrive where comprehension crumbles?
Tomorrow will come at dusk; better be prepared.
Discover layers of reality: The Angle | Whispered Thoughts | Empty Canvas