Every second whispers beyond glass walls, how long till morning blooms under rippling lights?
Laughing shadows cling to finned memories near the limestone and algae textures.
Where do dreams swim when breath becomes damp?
— Look deeper, perhaps behind an orient of paper fish floating in lucent pools of sound.
Or venture forth into hushed echoes where melancholy swims beneath the surface, plastic wrappers of certainty.
Tonight, the abyss calls, as memory ripens sweet on fragile scales. Will you listen?