There's a certain kind of magic in the pauses, you know? Those tiny pockets of silence where meaning lingers just out of reach, like a joke told in a foreign dialect.
Imagine sitting on a train, the landscape blurring past, and all you can hear are the echoes of conversations not had. A glance, a nod, whispered promises too fragile to hold.
Ever noticed how some truths taste like ash on your tongue? Halfspoken, they float in the air—disguised as mundane remarks, like "Nice weather today," when storms brew beneath our skins.
Let's talk about clouds and projections, the shadows we carry from room to room.
The universe hums, a soft vibration of stories untold. Each step a chapter left unmarked in the sand, washed away by the tides of yesterday's dreams. Do we dare to trace our paths, or are we lost on purpose?
Certain questions are like mirrors, reflecting edges and angles we don’t quite understand. They whisper in the dark...