The whisper of footfalls resonates in silence, hollow sockets moving with grace across nothingness. Where do the echoes cease? In the labyrinth of contemplations, I walk among phantoms breathing lifelessness.
Fingers trace lines upon an empty canvas. They alight upon dreams rendered into peripheries. Echoes that haunt. Nothingness beckons. Longing entwined with despair gleams like a shared glance fleeting through sepulchral motifs.
Beneath grievous skies adorned with teardrops, thoughts float aimlessly, like those of phantasmagorical dwellers, suspended between grasped recollections and desolate tomorrows. The storm lingers as it erodes hope, whispering serendipity into transience.
Whispered Intentions await beyond the veil. Do we tread deeper? Sever each tether binding ethereal whispers into corporeal realms? Even gates leading nowhere may conceal insights in their rust and decay.