Vaporous Dreams
Whispers of sunlit delusion, where shadows linger and twilight dances on the edge of sighs.
Fragments drift like autumn leaves, lost on the wind, into the labyrinth of echoes.
What do you hear beneath the lonesome bells, calling the forgotten hours?
A hand, ethereal and distant, beckons you to plunge further into reflective depths.
The clock strikes, yet moments slip like grains of sand—each one a universe unto itself.
Leaves of silence rustle; they fall unraveled at the feet of perception.