In the shadow of a curtain, I found myself yesterday. Time hung suspended, like yawning dusk alone upon the ocean. Each crease spoke of motions unseen, the kind that breach the heart but brush only the outer world.
I wondered about whispers hidden beneath layers of silk and wool. Were they fragments of my spoken truth, or echoes of lives danced by imagination? Reality before me felt like crumpled paper, waiting to be shaded anew by a feather's sigh and ink of dreams.