The tides whisper, unrelenting, a cycle in incessant motion, both anchor and driftwood in these vast oceans of daydreams, yet worlds become words and the ink dries, unnoticed.
Somewhere in the dim twilight breathes a man, a breath made vast, unidirectional, almost lyrical, unstoppable but unseen. He waits, gazing into the relentless grip, ever hopeful, maybe just another moment is enough, or not.
Clinging to reality, or perhaps it's oblivion oneself, weaving the rhythms that never seem to stop changing, undeterred, unafraid, the grains fall upward and bathe in vacuous serenity — embrace the void, they say.
Waves Anomaly
Vacuum Breath
Fleeting Point
And so, with every breath, an enormous ebb flows from shadow, tracing limbs forgotten, pieces scattered until they unite at the meeting threshold with never spoken names, lost at sea, caught in whispers of your waking reveries.
Embrace of the void, a phrase so consistently overused or silently evaded, dissolving in night's molten expanse, revealed in rusted truth beneath unaware skies.
Rhythms converge, stories glide intangibly beneath skin, orbiting pondering dreams, fragmented yet an entire cosmos. Touch the ancient grasp, once known and now just forever not ever.