Against the whispering shadows, a solitary figure wanders. Wayward and lost, yet somehow, fortuitously arranged under the moon's cold, vestigial gaze.
The moon - what dance does it name in the realm of quiet shadows and forgotten harmonies? The flicker of grass in a tomorrow not yet remembered. How... silent...
Harmony, ephemeral yet raw. The landscape dissipates—no, transforms—into something hilariously untouched.
Children of mist, they wander, moving with parts we know, feeling a semblance of purpose. Is purpose how the stars align? Or perhaps...
Listen. Do you not hear it? The song skimming the edges of evenings' lingering breath, only to deepen its echo and slip away.
Eternity's coin flips within it. A currency of imagined experiences like the echoing steps of a fragile truth.
Echo. Break the silence. Please. Let's whisper to the darkness, politely. Light a candle in the ether.