Between the echoes, a whisper of forgotten resolve.
Silk strands unspooling in quiet disarray.
In silent rooms where light dances on shadows.
The clock ticks—a companion to solitude.
Perhaps it was the midnight conversations, woven with stars and secrets, that anchored us to this place.
They spoke of futures unwritten, yet destinies seem to find us in the quiet moments of surrender.
A gentle pull, like gravity, drawing towards the inevitable.
Footsteps on a path of memories—
Mistakes repeat, lessons whispered to the winds.
The heart, a compass spinning wild.
Caught in the web spun by hands unseen, yet always felt.