In the web of lost sonnets—the paper crumbles under hands wrapped in twinkling shadows, beneath a sky painted with the hues of nostalgia.
Each letter, a lover’s caress; each ink stroke, a heartbeat fading into the murky tendrils of time. We weave tales through the palimpsests of erased histories—the book of longing unwritten and rewritten.
Can you recall the echoes of laughter, like distant stars falling into the ocean, ripples of moments long since washed ashore?
These fragments whisper sweetly into the night, igniting dreams that flicker like moths against the consumption of oblivion.
And as we stand at this precipice of dreams, I hold a faded map—showing bittersweet pathways scattered like lost petals. Shall we trace our fingers across the scars left behind?