I amble through this half-realm, a shadow clinging to the periphery of waking life, where I am both the observer and the observed. The whispers clamor, an indistinct symphony echoing off the corridors of my mind. Each note drops heavy like leaden raindrops upon a still pond, creating ripples that distort the familiar faces of time's masqueraders.
Do they know I wander? Do they sense the press of my thoughts against the lattice of their dreams? These questions dance like embers blown by a careless wind, sabotaging the order I seek. Yet, I wonder if order was ever my intention, or simply a mirage I chase in the waking fields stretching beyond the grasp of slumber.
My fingertips brush against the tapestry of fading murmurs. Each thread a story, a replay of moments tender and fleeting. Here, the world bends, and silence becomes a canvas for the choir of forgotten things. It is in this space I find my solace—between memories and dreams, two halves of the same whispered breath.
Along solitary paths I see reflections of archaic maps, inked with journeys untraveled, leading to doorways unlocking into streets aglow beneath stars unseen by dawn's hand. I wonder if the skies weep there, or if they cradle the sun in eternal embrace, sighing with contentment.
Each moment here is a choice unmade, a word undone, retreating into the folds of an ever-curving horizon. I ponder my steps, anchored by a gravity unseen but felt all around, drawing constellations in the spaces between my heartbeats.
And so, I float—a dreamer, a whisper among whispers. A solitary orbiting star tracing tranquil ellipses in this cosmos of murmurs interlaced with the gossamer threads of time.