Echoes of Exits

The lavender mist crept silently as she traced the edges of forgotten dreams, each step a note in the symphony of solitude.

Somewhere, a clock ticked backwards, its hands weaving through the tapestry of time. It whispered of moments never grasped, paths untaken.

Beneath the willow, an old photograph faded into the ground, the faces smiling enigmatically at the world that had moved on.