The soft murmur of early dawn spoke promises unfulfilled, yet within those{" "}
fragments of destiny,
passion brewed under the prism of burgeoning light.
Each unseen road holds tales untold, bare whispers of the ancients
weaved into the fabric of oblivion. Under star's indifferent gaze,
we glance sideways at the untrod edicts of fate.
The flutter of silk against skin, a memory lingered,
refracted through longing eyes, where dreams rested like dew
on morning's fragile edge.
Here, by the edge of the woven tapestry, one could discern
the
ephemeral ties that bind worlds,
each thread a boundary unraveled, yearning in its solitude.