Between the folds of abandoned dreams, a whisper floats like a feather on a forgotten breeze. Shadows embrace the light, cradling it like a lost memory, while the door creaks under the weight of sighs.
In corridors of silence, footsteps trace paths no longer walked, mirroring the rhythm of a heart once bold. The embrace is gentle here, a lingering touch of past and future intertwining in a dance without music. Solitude beckons, a silent guide through the museum of echoes.
And there, in the dim corners, a flicker of what was — or perhaps what never came to be — remains. Dust particles waltz in the shafts of pale light, a soft chorus to the parallel embrace of shadows and time.