Each page in the sand is a love letter; every grain a story, an unsung melody waiting to dissolve under the waves. We are but fragments of memories erased and rewritten, palimpsests of longing clinging to the threads of what once was.
In forgotten halls of history, where the shadows kiss the walls, we find the traces of kisses pressed into the ink — echoes of soft laughter slipping through cracks of time.
What stories hide beneath the visible words, longing for sunlight, yearning for the passion with which they were first born? Perhaps there lies within the diluted ink a forgotten embrace or a tender gaze caught between the lines.