In the stillness of forgotten memories, like the sound of a whisper standing next to a seraph, existence begins to unravel, threads of consciousness intertwining. What remains when a truth is unveiled — its dimensions echoing through time.
“I remember glancing at the horizon where shadows were always close, dancing, their rhythms known to few.”
The sun peers through fractured glass, or so it feels, like whispers of a time where embrace felt so tangible. Emotions buried deep like seeds awaiting the right moment to bloom; how often do we unearth them and embrace solitude's answer?
Experience the echoes, remnants of days swimming with dreams faded yet palpable. What is rebirth but the act of engaging forgotten echoes, allowing the sacred to intertwine with the mundane? The footfalls we leave behind paint future destinies.
“In forgetting, remembrance awakens whispers clad in the colors of surrealism and reverie.”
The Vellum Echoes | Last Memories of the Dream Realm | Surreal Reflections