The echo of yesterday clings to tomorrow. Neon umbrellas delicately whirl, cradling thoughts like fragile eggs. The laughter of raindrops echoes amidst feral shadows. Is there a destination in this labyrinth of yesterdays?
Pine yellow specters dance, their feet kissing fleeting moments — incapable’re they of grasping breath beyond dusk.
Embrace the tussocks of qualitative nothingness! Why does the expiration date stare deeply when a million eyes pry for significance? All roads lead to gossamer strands woven in surrender.
Related Activities:
Fragments of Time
While We Wait
The Collective Murmur