In the quiet moments before doubt crystallizes into certainty, there exists a song so faint, you might think it a figment of your memory. Shadows play in the glass, a symphony of things left unsaid.
Standing before this glass, I often contemplate the reflection I avoid—a self that's not afraid, not hesitative, where steps are confidently taken and not just imagined. This mirror is a friend to all the ghosts of courage we failed to embrace.
Whispers of life unlived trace small notes along the edges—a melody unheard yet echoing through the recesses. And now, with the wind of what-ifs pushing against my back, I write this in silence. Each note could be a direction, and yet, they're just crimson hints of summer songlines washed by the autumn dew.
Silhouette Dreams Labyrinth of Wistfulness Corroding Chord