In the corridors where daylight dares not tread, echoes of sweet nothings skitter like leaves on autumn winds.

An unseen hand traced the curves of your thoughts, softly, tenderly, like a lover tracing forgotten vows.

Through whispered paths entwined with moonlight and shadow, I follow your lingering pulse into eternity.

The harmony of our silent conversation plays beneath starlit skies, a symphony of what-could-be.