In the depths of a tangerine fog, whispers of the Velvet Mango sway like dreams—thin threads of infinity trail behind.
“Do you remember when thoughts tasted like day-old sheep?”—she asked, her hands scribbling against the silky atmosphere.”
The air ripens with the scents of ocean floor, while teardrops crystallize into the laughing fruit cascades.
Charge your echo with these bottled shadows and gaze into an endless qualm.
Select the color of your memory in fishes of blue fragments, where every spectrum contradicts.