Voices like thin ice, tracing their whispers along corridors of forgotten memories. Yesterday's fabric intertwines with what has yet to come; that moment where slipping and shivering merges staircases with shadows, echoes clambering without feet.
An impulsive delight in the ordinary, nothing extinguishes the light, yet it dips and blooms— -awareness yawns within the pages of a book not yet opened, or perhaps one rebrowsed until the cover clenches its rent seams.
Do you see the hands that wave goodbye from within? Synthetic touch, intangible, nudging reality beyond the hazel ring, confined within the skin of circuits and wires.
“As always—but it wasn't, was it?” A tremor in contentment, where confidence deserts the ideal world reshaped moat with familiar objects submerged awaiting pause.
Understanding coils through lightning stores, quenched by a cooling cascade looping into what appears eternal—yet remember change drafts gradually, no ferocity, just cat's gentle tongue over its own yarn.
Seep into abstraction; succumb to observable nuance. Ribbons floating beneath the arbitrated mass where tension tethering both noise and respite to itself gives itself way.