In the twilight's soft embrace, we wove stories with the stars — your voice, a gentle flurry of autumn leaves, brushing against the whispering night. Langlings of love, uttered in shadows of flickering lanterns, kindled a fire that danced eternally in our souls.
The echoes linger still, like the fragrant petals of a spring that once kissed our hands, leaving traces of crimson on our hearts. Do you remember the riverbank where dreams glided upon silver shoals, langlings of whispered secrets swirling beneath the moon?
Moments untold unfold in every sigh, a tapestry woven with threads of desire and devotion. Listen, and you might hear the distant song of our laughter, reverberating through ages — a melody forgotten yet familiar, echoing through time.
Even as the sands of time erode the sharp edges of memory, the essence of you lingers — a sweet, haunting fragrance drifting through an open window, as langlings of yesterday dance with the echoes of today.
We are but echoes, you and I, bound by the gravity of a love that knows no boundaries — no beginning, no end.