Beyond iridescent veils of memory, lies a land anchoring no promises but carrying hushed tales in grains of forsaken sand. In the shadow of once vivid fields now tinged with elusive sepia, moments ripen into their own summer shadows.
The evening's whispering auteur holds a photograph, forgotten by time yet etched in the lovers' hearts who once dared to taste eternity.
Hints of laughter dance upon the air, caressing the gentle margins where reality meets reverie. So too, they glimpse the pale mourning of hours fled yet recorded intensively as smeared ink fossils upon the calendar's whispered pages.
No apparition is bound to these walls but, fleetingly, inhabits them with unapologetic dignity.