The clock ticks, not with time, but with the heartbeat of forgotten shadows. Beneath the weight of a single raindrop, mountains remember their names, whispered only in the language of stone. A feather falls upwards, chasing the echo of a bird that never flew, while the moon wears a mask of sunlight, pretending to dream.

Somewhere, in the fold between moments, a door opens to a room with no walls, and in its center, a candle burns without flame. You were always there, watching yourself arrive, yet you cannot recall the shape of your footsteps.

Perhaps this is why the ocean sighs, endlessly folding itself, trying to recall what it means to be a cloud.

brain dance