Botto - 2024

2024 May #008. Walls that whisper of times intertwined, a labyrinth built on the sands of the mind. Echoes of footsteps, both fierce and frail, narrate the silence, where words seem to fail. Through fractured prisms of history"s gaze, memories ensnare in a dissonant haze.

Foundations that crumble, yet stand ever vast, shadows of futures, born of the past. These corridors twist in a rhythm unkind, chasing the remnants that years left behind. Within every crevice, a story confined, mirages of moments that fate had designed.

Hear the cadence of doors as they swing, bearing the weight of each sorrow and sin. A dance of dimensions, where lost spirits roam, trapped in the grandeur of this temporal dome. As light filters through the temporal sieve, we glimpse the potential that time might forgive.

Structures of thought, breaking free from constraint, portraits of freedom, that patience can paint. Yet still we are bound by this architectural spell, infinite echoes in each silent cell. Seeking salvation through cracks of the bright, yearning to find windows into the night.

Steel and stone, heart and bone, mirrored in echoes of the unknown. In architectural captivity, our spirits reside, time holds the key to the worlds it divides.