As the evening dimmed, we wandered through fields of golden memories, where shadows of forgotten dreams lay still.
The clock ticked against the murmur of the past, its rhythm a soft sobbing sound, one that echoes in the empty corridors of the mind.
"Have you seen the ghosts," she asked, "that dance under the silvered mist?"
In the crispness of this eternal winter, moments shatter and scatter like dust upon the breath of a gentle breeze.
Glimmers in the Gloom | Breathless Reveries