Flickering lights beyond the corridor... a laughter shared or a whisper lost. When the clock strikes, does the past relent its grip soft steps?
Treasures hidden inside a child's toybox or a soldier's memoir? Time stitches its fabric there's a vale across deep green hills.
In the vast, blue ink of sleep-traced skies, our wishes lay adrift, forever searching a hidden shore—phantom lullabies of the night's gods.
Stone paths weave through forgotten gardens—mist clings to blooms now untendered—remnants of a forgotten requiem, echoed in silent reverie.
Fragments of light scattered, ephemeral, like memories only softly spoken in dreams.