As the murmur of emerald waves ebbed and flowed, we lingered on the precipice of whispers heard through walls of silk. A curtain's lace bids us pause, yet we enter the familiar mystery of borrowed light.
"There are paths less walked, where shoes make their promises and shadows spea—"echoing, "catch my breath," she murmured, "before the dawn steals it away."
The air thick with unsung lullabies, our footsteps ask questions that have no answers, the past trailing like a forgotten tune played on an out-of-tune celestial instrument.
"It's a magic not meant for waking eyes," he said, twisting a thread of night into something tangible, something remembered. "Does it matter if they understood?" she asked.
Stars blinked in a synchronous dance, an unearthly attendance at a secret rendezvous where dreams were exchanged for fragments of reality.