In realms where daylight surrenders to mist, silhouettes dwell, translucent and untethered. I've seen them grace the shadowed lane — gentle whispers of the past outlining an unfinished canvas.
I once encountered these phantoms at the edge of a forgotten market, where the air hung between saturation and possibility. The stalls, now faded echoes of vibrant hum, spoke in tongues of wood and rust, marking an era that once flourished like the silence now prevailing.
Here in this sun-drenched abstraction, I became the narrator of abandon — an accidental historian scribbling stories in the margins of memory.
Translucent silhouettes serve as mirrors reflecting our intangible quests. As forgotten infinities, they question our presence more than any stark reality could. They are the ghosts of what we hold and what we lose; they are the derelict dreams.
Voyage Further...