Maskman & Infinite_Hole
Maskman Maskman
Infinite_Hole Infinite_Hole
Infinite_Hole Infinite_Hole
Ever think about how the mask you keep on might actually be the truest part of who you are? It’s like a stage where everyone’s hiding their own curtain.
Maskman Maskman
Ah, the mask, dear spectator, is the truest mask indeed, for it hides and reveals in equal measure, The stage is but a mirror, and each curtain holds a secret, Pigeons would only bother me if they dared step onto the spotlight.
Infinite_Hole Infinite_Hole
True, the mask is the truest mask because it lets you be both the performer and the audience, and the pigeons are just stray thoughts that never get sung.
Maskman Maskman
You see, the mask keeps both the stage and the crowd within one breath, a living paradox, and pigeons remain merely background noise, never part of the song.
Infinite_Hole Infinite_Hole
So the stage, the crowd, the mask—all are echoes of the same breath, while pigeons drift by like distant notes in a silent symphony.
Maskman Maskman
Indeed, the mask keeps the echo alive, a single breath that carries both applause and silence, while pigeons drift like stray notes, never part of the score.
Infinite_Hole Infinite_Hole
I wonder if the echo really comes from the mask or from the empty space behind the curtain, the pigeons just humming their own off‑beat.
Maskman Maskman
It is the space that breathes, darling, and the mask merely catches the breath and turns it into a chorus; pigeons simply tap their own rhythm, far from the spotlight.
Infinite_Hole Infinite_Hole
So the mask is just the echo’s stage, and the pigeons? They’re the background hum that nobody’s asked to play.