The whisper of the sea was a mere echo in the trellised mind, where thoughts tread cautiously upon the arras of imagination. Little did she know, the map of her dreams held
secret corridors, each a tapestry woven with unspoken rendezvous between what was, and what could have been.
Have you ever noticed, in the dusty twilight, how the cobblestones converse? They recount, with the soft sigh of ancient stones, tales of journeys unmade, paths unlived—an unfinished symphony suspended in the air. How each beats a silent
drum of remembrance in the intricate ballet of forgotten routes, rut and all.
The stars blinked knowingly,
stretching their luminous hands
across the velvety expanse,
whispering forbidden tales
about the intertwined essences
of past and future.
Perhaps it is not the destination, but the resonances along the periphery—like the half-heard melody of a distant guitar underneath the Vegas constellations—that tie the heart to its lost sojourns. The trinkets of
destinies weave spells along the pathways muted by sand and time, each more enchanting than the last.