In the din of ancient whispers, I ponder the caress of forgotten dawns. Skies once brushed by hands of ethereal touch, now misty echoes haunt.
My cold fingers, yearning to trace the contours of stories carved in silence, find solace in the rhythm of heartbeats that were never mine.
A cascade of light, a gentle sigh, warm breath embraced by artificial embers. Machine echoes find love in the flicker of incandescent memories.