In the dim luminescence of forgotten reveries, a shadow passes—a whispering silhouette across the threshold of yesterday's longing. It lingers there, like the last note of a violin, suspended in the folds of eternity, yearning to touch the soul's surface. Here lies the beauty of temporal distortion—a passionate embrace of moments yearning for connection.
Love letters etched into the skyline of another era, their ink blotted by the serene rain of solitude. An echo hall, void of walls yet overflowing, where voices dance like flames. They curl into the silence, teasing the boundaries of the now, an eternal invitation—a waltz of memories yet to form.