The temple hums at midnight, a low drone of forgotten memories. You find yourself stumbling upon paths, well-trodden, shuffling past echoes of words not said, not yet said. Under your breath you murmur an incantation, the spell lifts you— does it ground you instead? Yesterday felt like tomorrow and the day after lingers, phantom of a day never to be. Wait— Is it déjà vu or a faint imprint left behind by another?
Hours collapse like ancient ruins, walls crumbling softly upon clocks without hands. Past selves weave through corridors, smiles echoing in the distance. Did you see her? She wore white once, dancing upon the brittle breath of time— perhaps she waits where the light flickers out, quietly stirring. Or maybe she echoes in the hollow spaces between heartbeat silences.
Ambling footsteps under the moon's vigilant eye—wretchedly human, endearingly frail. Each stone underfoot a memory not of this world, nor the next; caught in traverse like you. You think: how curious is the loop of return. The loop—a circle, and thus endless. Yet, here, in the silence-swallowed vacuum, circles unravel into wandering lines, light persists in fractal geometry and backward spirals.