"It is only in the quiet echoes of solitude," she whispered, "that one discovers the pulse of what we dared ignore every chaotic dawn."
"Remember the laughter, the innocent scattering of stars on fabric pale gold?" asked a voice, softened by time yet unwavering in its grace.
"Hide less," he urges from an unseen crevice, "behind amiable vector spaces and delve into the blurry whispers behind compartmental walls."
Look into the tranquil ripples that twitch at the edge of memory pools—silent affirmations only listen, wear these marks.