Time Is a Wisp

Sand written into the syntax of minutes unspooling, mundane moments fractal into the surreal tapestry of what was never there. Tongues of fog unfurl against the grains of other voices, dissolving the boundaries of existence, interweaving destiny and memory.

As thoughts slip like river stones through unyielding fingers, opening doors to nowhere, ghostly whispers echo down the alley of unmade choices.