Echoes of Lament

In the corridors of time, I heard a whisper — a static lullaby. Notes unplayed, melodies undone, yet they lingered, ever haunting.

The silver moth danced upon wires of twilight, each flutter an echo of dreams etched in forgotten sands. Her wings bore the weight of unspilled tears, while the moon, a distant lantern, observed in silence.

Beneath the murmur of the stars, stories weaved themselves into the fabric of night — threads of sorrow, woven into the very essence of what it means to remember. A lament, unspoken yet profoundly felt, vibrated through the ether.

Step lightly through the echoes, for they sing a lullaby of what was, and what might never be again. Listen closely, and the refrain will guide you home.