Time Wears Sheets
Remnants of Dreams Forgotten
The sheets lie scattered, soft whispers of silence, each fold a fleeting memory capturing fragments of twilight.
Like threads woven from the finest gossamer, they encase thoughts faded — brushstrokes of time lingering,
where the sun embraces the horizon and memory drips like honey from the mind.
It is said that every fold contains scents of autumn leaves, echoes of laughter, melodic murmurs
that rise like steam from a freshly brewed cup of nostalgia.
Snippets float: A fleeting gaze across the crowded room, prescient glimpses of someone familiar,
now a shadow cast in light. They glitter momentarily before escaping down pathways where sorrow and joy collide.
At the heart, each whisper speaks in coded symbols, messages entwined like roots in oblivion.
Here, time sheds its linear skin; instead, emotions ripple through layers of moments,
a dance of what has been and what might never be.