In the twilight of forgotten dreams,
where whispers of ancient lullabies linger,
a silent conversation unfolds,
with shadows casting stories untold.
The remnants of a past not fully lived,
float like fragments of a distant song,
each note a memory, a sigh, a breath.
The stars are witnesses,
blinking with knowing indifference
over the tales we tell ourselves
in the mirror of the night sky.
What remains when echoes fade?
Just the outlines of the words
etched in the sand of time, perhaps.
Consider the echoes,
their soft caress against your mind,
a tender yet haunting embrace,
as they carry the weight of worlds
not yet born, not yet named.
Reach out, for they slip through fingers,
like whispers dissolving into dawn.