Pale anxiety: searching for the voice I used to be

Soft shadows on the edge of sleep and wakefulness materialize within doorways as if conjured by ethereal hands. Tomorrow's burdens, like specters of fate, take form. A dream woven by a midsummer night's reverie unfurls its splendor. The delicate tulle of the window, stirred by a teal breath, raises a question: is it but the wind's whimsy? To rouse from anxiety's clasp or yield to its siren call?

Olena Speakingtomato, 2023
Imagination + AI + Photoshop
5000  x  6500 px