Passing ephemeral, transient beings, vacant yet somehow overflowing with life. They move with and without us, faintly getting by, changing shape to fit whatever place they inhabit. Hardly ever heard, yet discovered by a few. Silently copying, creating an exaggeration of life, their survival is brief and flickering.

It is a way of living understood only by one.

A second thought beneath the fast circadian umbrella. A concealed world we claim no attachment to, yet once remembered, we cannot let it go. A world explored in fragments, in echoes, in the soft residue of what almost was.