In the dark, my shadow conceals itself, wrapped in empty silence, as the cold wind whispers through the room. Dead silences speak to me, as if striving for their own existence, their presence felt in the stillness. In the corner of the room, the dim flame of a candle flickers, casting its fragile light across the night. Outside, the sky is embedded with stars, illuminated by the fading twilight.
Looking through misty windows, my eyes reflect a reprise—a return to something lost, dissolved in the depths of this night. The moments of delight I once knew have evaporated, leaving me to question: where has my anxiety gone? Or have I simply become lost, suspended between peace and harmony, living in this very moment, my whole life now folded into this singular breath.
Jingles, songs, and ballads fill the air, replete with ecstasy and delight. I feel them in my veins, an ultimate sensation coursing through me. My soul is alive, a state of oblivion giving way to rapture. And then, someone—or something—comes, and I feel it: my soul is awakened. The moon, mischievous and playful, dances across the sky, hiding and revealing itself in turns. The ebbs and flows of this unfathomable sea reflect a majestic delight, as if it too is alive with the same joy.
A call rings out, cryptic, mystic—like an apparition, or perhaps the sound of immortality itself, sacrosanct and pure, igniting within me. In this flame, nebulous and divine, the stars bear witness to a scene of purity, a sacred moment that cannot be confined to temples or shrines. The fire burns within, alive, a symbol of something eternal, something beyond the grasp of time.