The whispers descend softly, wrapping around words yet unformed, like ice on a wild morning lake. Was it a dragon? A gentle giant wailing under the weight of its own nighttime escapades? It's these dreams, these liquid myths that find their home within tiny bones of memory. I'm floating now, in a sea of jumbled sunbeams and stolen shadows, where crystallized skies nod knowingly.
Oh, peek through the window at the realm of conversing stars. You cannot, they only whistle when unseen. Perhaps that’s their secret or perhaps you wear the invisible crown lying bare beneath omniscient palms. And what of the maze formed with spiraling kittens and yarn made of cloud wisps?
Twilight brings. A soft velvet whisper brushing past canvases stretched thin over violins. Can you hear the symphony of golden raindrops hidden behind curtains of midnight dew? Only feet brushed by inquisitive dreams can understand this delicate arrangement of strings.