The universe is a spider's web — a shimmering lattice. In the quiet dark, dreams that drift apart may never meet again, except in the most improbable of ways.
As I walk along the edge of reason, the echoes of unspoken thoughts chase me, like timid insects in the mist of dawn.
How do you measure what cannot be seen? The touch of a ghost, perhaps? Or the elusive whisper of an untraveled path?
Steps leading into the fog, where clarity meets nothingness. An invitation to a dance without partners, yet synchronized with unseen rhythms.
Voices linger, fading yet persistent, as if ancient sea creatures are weaving stories in the spaces between words.
The mirror reflects a world of possible selves. On some distant edge, an echo answers a question never asked.
Fingers trace the mist, leaving trails that vanish before touching stars scattered in the sable sky of imagination.
Look closely to see the dance of shadows — a ballet for one pair of eyes, hidden from the gaze of the world.