Footsteps echo from the corners of forgotten dreams, where clarity brews in a tea of hazy pasts.
A dance of fading echoes softly lingers in the amber twilight, reaching out like fingers made of mist.
Invisible fields, holding whispers, styling tales untold, where the heart remembers faces that have never met.
Every shadow is but a hurried thought disguised, retracing paths lost upon the woven tapestry of time.
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