Not quite eaten, the silhouette of memories lingers. Echoing laughter drowns the silence. What once was a relentless tide has congealed into fog, a symphony frozen in the moment of dusk.
Fleeting shadows beckon—you twist a murmur into shape yet forget the taste of echoes. Ahead, the path forks, receding like sorrow; gathering dreams into fractured sentences.
Time folds upon itself, twisting the fabric into whispers, into stories unspoken—a déjà vu whispering beneath breaths.
Clouded thoughts coil binding laces; yesterday incarnates as today. The horizon blooms into fibers of what was once, can be, might never return. Are we done yet? Echoes question as ethereal specters soften the edges of our awareness.