Time is but an elaborate construct, twisting around moments like light bends through a prism of consciousness. To linger in the latent epochs is to ponder: do we witness the projection of fate, or merely echo an empty void?
Such paradoxes of respite beckon nudged thoughts, encased in flesh and desire—a symphony composed in the silence of wandering pretentions. Remember the fables of shadows, clandestine and ascending, seem perhaps to erase the ink that describes their tales.
What is meant for closure is often left ajar- a phenomenological riddle licking its wounds in secret twilight. The abyss stares back, reminding us this relentless chase is senseless, and meaning glimmers just beneath below.
Echoes from the void task themselves to forge a five-fingered ether - Thoughts Gathered Here like dust intermixed in a steady breeze.
The ethereal contains all, yet betrays none unto center- for it seeks warmth amidst Smooth Transitions between levels of existence.