The glow from the forgotten fingertips surfaced like a distant star, twinkling in the void of absence. I felt their gentle caress upon the surface of ideas, as they traced constellations in midair, mapping the stories untold.
In the right elbow's twilight, echoes of warm sunlight dappled imaginary spaces, casting intricate shadows that mimicked once-frequent gestures. These motions now reside in dreamlike loops, spinning silently in the ethers of unclaimed realities.
Luminous thoughts lingered in the phantom index, igniting sparks of forgotten warmth with every stroke of poetic longing. The air crackled with the aftertaste of intimate conversations held in spectral tongues.
Sometimes, secrets emerge as whispers from the pale wrist, unfurling like the hesitant whispers of morning dew. Its ghosts speak in colours unseen, bubbling at the surface, ready to burst into fleeting, lyrical understanding.
Revisit the specters of dreams: vanishing/glimpse.html | murmurs.html | enigmas/phantoms.html