Prompt

A single, selfsiphoning filament of inverted nostalgia, shaped like a spiraling, nonreflective ribbon of condensed memory foam, drifts through the center of a vast, suspended garden where the soil is not organic, but compressed, unremembered childhood lullabies from a civilization that communicated through the resonance of forgotten dreams. The filament does not unravelit unremembers, each twist dissolving a layer of sentiment that never coalesced, reforming into ephemeral, bioluminescent roots shaped like the negative space between two hands that never held a dandelion in the same breath of innocence. The garden is not aliveit is a layered expanse of petrified wonder, each petal etched with the harmonic

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