The sun hangs gently, weaving threads of gold across the silent air, binding moments suspended in amber, echoing where no sound dares to tread.
Shadows dance, flickering like hopes deferred, along the walls of memory. Every turn unravels a tale, whispered by the corridors of yesterday.
A pause, a breath, the gentle sigh of time forgotten, anchored in space where dreams linger and fade, like the scent of rain on thirsty earth.
Fragmented phrases, lingering like ghosts, haunt the edges of thought, awaiting the touch of a curious hand to set them free.