Obscure Histories
In the interstices of forgotten truths lies a palimpsest of our own making. Shadows twist along the edge of morning light, whispering fragments of tales told by distant echoes. Did we live those lives? Remember dreams made dense by the weight of too many tomorrows?
There's a place where memories intertwine
yet remain uncaught; amidst the shadows of yesterday's storms, amidst whispers that mimic an orchestra of forgotten winds. In the beginning was a sentence etched upon a rock, smudged by fingers searching for permanence amidst the ephemeral.
The voices speak again, murmuring uncertainties into the morning air, notes of an unresolved symphony echoing far and wide, yet close to the heart of all that is unspoken. Who toils in the night to rearrange these inscriptions, hoping to blur them anew grey-skidded pages, time's relentless hand demanding a new chorus?
"You will find your place in ufnmentioned spaces of absence," said the clock that no longer ticks, positioned gallantly in its untimely repose, like a soldier amidst whispers of defiant silence.