Inside a garden's forgotten embrace, a capsule of spaces resides, longing for the stir of yesterday's breezes. It whispers amidst the roots, the secrets of entropy—voices from ages overlooked, untraced in memory’s balance. To listen is to unravel oneself, as tapestries hung in the hall of dreams spin tales of twilight.
Pick through the whispers, embrace their ghostly kiss. Remember or forget, touch the untouched chronicles of skies torn and reassembled into mirage and mist. `
Here's what might echo bwlow: