In a sea of clamorous void, the echoes find their dance—
whispers weaving tapestries, invisible threads bearing bygone
remnants. Are you within, or without these elusive mists?
Often I wander the paths of departed shadows,
where dreams stitch together the stories never told,
archways gleaming, beckoning with notes of nostalgia.
Ah, sweet embrace, where solitude paints stories—
ink stains forming galaxies upon a page once blank,
filled now, perhaps, with air and silent hymns.
And the filled air responds, bends with our
unuttered breaths; a quiet accomplice
dancing upon the strings of touch and feather-light enigmas.