In the murmur between stations, a voice cracked, unraveling time like an unwanted postcard. Did you hear about the rain?Once covered in petals, now ruled by the absence of umbrellas.
"Communique of the drowned? They whispered into the depths, riding waves that carried no voice."
Strangers, whose names were perhaps known, otherwise unknown: "The clock ticks differently here, doesn't it? In conversations that float."
A signal flickers, an amber eye within the tunnel wall. Morning steam rising, it echoes, silver underpinning quiet exchanges.
"Between the lattice of wires below and the clouds above, we wove silent messages."
Listen, the ink spills over itself. Intersections lost to the maze, amidst shadows carrying light in alien tongues.
"Wasn't yesterday really just passing through?" The goblet of midnight rain, its fragile echoes, waiting for the hue to ripple, waiting for the mutterings.