once, under the silent shadow
of ink-stained echoes, the
whispers spoke in half-truths,
trailing off into the corridors of
unknown paths, where light
dared not linger. A book opened, forgotten...
do you remember the whispers of
old shelves, where tales breathe
through cobweb veils? they began
amidst the quiet rustling pages
of a world not entirely known...
fragments await forgotten hands,
grasping at something more than
mere words. hidden inside the
mundane lies a magic that turns
readers into dreamers...