In a room of whispers and drifting colors, a figure waits.
Shadows cast by the nimble hands of time,
trace patterns over forgotten letters stained in ink, pink velvet mist covers edges.
Somewhere, tickets to a film that was never released,
art deco echoes and abstract reflections on glass panes.
The clock without hands ticks perpetually
while fractured dreams reshuffle their memories.
Are you unlistened fairytales or mere hints
on the edge of hazy realities?