In the Whispering Shadows

They call it an epiphany when the mind's fog momentarily lifts, granting passage to fragmented truths. Yet these illuminating moments often drown in an overflow of thoughts—uninvited, unintended, unseen. Silent screams echo through the labyrinth of contemplation, crafting poetry in the dark recesses of the heart.

Phrases long hidden in the soil of memory sprout like ghostly specters, dancing on the edge of consciousness. They speak in tongues familiar yet foreign, whispering regrets, hopes, and dreams entangled in a cosmic web woven by time's relentless hands. In silence, we scream, for the world needs not witness our internal storms.