Do you remember the garden?
Lavender waves lapping gently against your ankles,
whispers of forgotten laughter as the sun dipped below the horizon.
We chased the light, footsteps echoing in eternity,
the smell of summer clinging like a sweet ghost.
Conches speak in riddles and rhymes,
a murmur of windswept shores and silenced storms.
Each note, a fragment of a story untold,
fading like the last embers of an ancient bonfire.
Echoes wrapped in time's embrace,
leaving trails of salt and sand between the cracks of memory.
I heard your voice yesterday,
woven into the evening breeze—fragile, distant.
We stood at the edge once, shell to ear,
listening to the world disguised as a heartbeat.
It sang of secret places,
of paths less wandered, of wanderers less forgotten.