An infinite number of elsewheres,
fragile echoes of dreams, long faded—
now we gamble with house money
in a game whose rules dissolve as we play,
the stakes as fleeting as the memory of their purpose. Worlds wrapped in illusions,
spun from threads of smoke and of silk,
on a stage where the actors struggle,
unaware they were cast before their first breath.
We are all fighting the same war,
waging hollow battles with invisible hands,
while time—our only true enemy—
wears us smooth, relentless as waves on stone.
