Symposium of Shadows

Lorem Ipsum shakes hands with entropy while a silent moth recites a forgotten sonnet to the evening echo. Was it your hands, once held tight, dialogued thoughts, or merely specters dancing in fright any longer?

“How many whispers mature into conversation?” they ponder just as tremors of laughter consume the room, yet skiff under the dilapidated ceiling eager to escape.

The moon hangs, like an old librarian listening to discarded anecdotes. Empty chairs curl delicately to neglect, debating life in photographs. Each unpinned fragment unravels the fabric of moments. What is the substance of fleeting time?

Reflecting again, the echo coughs—“Recall the void filled with chatter?” A face materializes. Milton knee-deep in yarns stretched taut, grasping onto evaporating winds; reality rendered pointless,

A falling leaf, perhaps? It lingers. Go deeper, losing meaning in the cracks.

Grass blades envy the flick hallelujah of tired lights, sparking life into hollow arrests of woven time. Step to the path where murmurs invite rains of non-existing conversations.

A symposium on whimsy grounded on regret! Disrupt the contemplation wrapped pure in silence.