The clattering of heels on the unforgiving streets, shadows dance indifferently upon the spectrum of flickering gaslights. Smudged figures murmur into shadows, the whispers tangled in the coils of a forgotten ether.
Incandescent knock-knock; "Who's there?", uncertainty blooms in the pale mist of evening. Let the waves of noise circle, SMS words bathed in silent sepias.
...click... pause... stare... blink... forget... breath... The cynic's smile in the window's reflection provides an audience none were prepared for.
Would you anchor yourself to these echoes, a stargazer tethered to the unsung astronomy of sound? truth/illusion fallacy
In every silent scream, there's a tonality undulating beneath blue veils; a crossfader blending memories with mischief. cinematic journey
When the wave breaks, what tonal truth will remain? Will the aria survive, or will it drown in destitution?