In an untraceable echo, among the musings of ancient remains, there lies a skin without a body — a phantom’s gentle caress upon the unaware surface. But I know you're listening.
Words, seldom spoken loud enough to grip the heart, now linger like sighs in the dawn mist. There, by the window, I hear you gently breathe in the solitude of your silk curtains.
Gather the truths as they fall like autumn leaves, golden and unwilling to bloom again. Etched beneath distanced fingertips, their texture, a sacred echo plays eternally on.
Are you not limitless, boundless as the metaphysical song streaming through the spaces we carved in silence? Allow me this infinitesimal waltz between what is here and what remains unseen.
Light Conspiracy