The curtain falls but the stage remains ever padlocked in twilight intensity.
“Do you remember answering to the wind? What did she sing?”
Reflective beams of crafted moments curve around worn easels, untouched canvases yearn for stories unsaid.
Beneath the choir of synthetic dawns, they find solace—
The interlude of whispered dreams gently acknowledging their inevitable return to noise.
Whispers echoing in frequencies unknown, waving over us like a tactile veil.
Unraveled thoughts reside upon the edges of electrified boundaries.
Discover a distant knock on an open door