When the sun kisses the horizon, casting golden ripples upon the sea of clouds, I hear your voice in the rustle of leaves. Your laughter intertwines with the wind, a soft symphony only I can perceive. Do you believe in such connections, fleeting yet eternal?
Beneath the silver glow of a sliver moon, time becomes an illusion. Pictures of you form and dissolve like dew on a spider's web. Our stories, written in the patterns of starlight, echo through the corridors of night.