It’s strange how the absence of light can still have a presence. That colour you only see when your eyes are closed, it doesn’t come from the outside world. It’s a colour made of your own thoughts, memories, dreams. Even when your eyes are closed, you can still see something.

The mind builds realities inside that grey. Something you’ve never seen, but somehow know so well. A place that feels familiar but impossible, like a memory that doesn’t belong to you.

A building with no windows, no way out. Just corridors and doors that lead back to the same place. You walk through it, trapped inside its architecture like a thought that keeps repeating.