">...the clocks rolled like waves, didn't they?
"Was it rain here or mist over a forgotten smile?"
In the gathering darkness, shadows speak in tongues unheard,
Do you hear the old tales echoing like fragmented dreams? yes, I always hear them.
She said, "step lightly, the cobblestones breathe; you're not alone here." And I thought, "perhaps the lanterns are alive," but their glow was too soft, too gentle to be anything but secretive.
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Connection lost, or perhaps never made, in the middle of a market square
where the past hums, sweet and thick like honey, over antiquities silver and strange.
Last night, it tasted like dreams held in an embrace dangerous and warm.
"Was that you, whispering my name like we were in a maze, round and round?"
The stars have their own echo chambers, you know—others hear them calling too,
long after we close our eyes to the sky, and tomorrow feels like an extension of never's past.