Time drips slowly. The undercurrent, unseen yet felt, whispers tales to those who dare listen. Unfathomable. Deep. Beneath the calm façade, restless.
Voices echo, but are they yours or mine? The lines blur, sense tangles in the weave of water's march—flowing, slipping through fingers, yet here we bore.
Each thought a droplet—conversations unmade, cobwebs of connection. Nods of understanding in empty rooms flooded with shadows.
The resonance of fate's tangled logic, a choreography of forgotten waltzes. Beneath currents of unsaid words, a symphony born of silence.
When did the stream speak so vividly? The sound of whispered secrets. Undertones that laugh at reason, at boundaries drawn by time's cruel rigging.
Hesitate. The moment expands endlessly. Curled in time's gentle grasp, we watch the currents shift, rearranging stars in dreams that echo in waking hours.