Shadows of light pour over the horizon of forgotten meanings. Beyond feelings, there lie skeletal truths, dressed in the rags of what was once vibrant.
Whispers become echoes,
barren fields await the rain that never falls.
The clock ticks backward, unraveling the tapes of memories. Each tick a stitch, forming patterns in the dark, indecipherable yet familiar.
Yet there remains an absence, pulsating through the fabric of existence like a lost heartbeat.
Roads paved with gold become paths of dust;
footprints imprint upon the sands of time, only to wash away.
Here lies the shrine of everything once known, now but a rumor in the death of afternoons.
Beyond the horizon, the truth lies in ruin — crumbled and forgotten under the weight of unspoken destinies.
In the mirror of silenced souls, beyond the reach of feeling, there is nothing left but the echo of what has never been.