It was there, among the whispers of lavender hills, that I first heard your name. A gentle whisper, foretelling love like the first drop of rain on parched earth.
We danced nocturnes beneath the silver gaze of the moon, our shadows merging into one. Each step a silent vow, exchanged between breaths.
The old bookstore, musty and timeless, laid bare our secrets. Pages turned by invisible hands in the deep of night, uncovering tales of souls entwined across lifetimes.
I remember the scent of your laughter, like fresh-baked bread at dawn. It lingers, echoes through endless corridors of memory, chasing shadows into the soft embrace of twilight.
Sometimes I wonder if our paths are marked in stars, invisible ink on a map of the universe that guides lost hearts home.
The music of your voice, a delicate harmony etched in the silence. I can almost touch its glow, a halo around fleeting dreams and painted skies.
Murmured promises beneath the ancient trees, an invitation to rediscover those forgotten spells and whispered truths.